A Study In Brotherhood
by alphaangel
Summary: Once upon a time there wasn't a Sherlock Holmes or a Mycroft Holmes. But there were two boys desperate for help. A study of Sherlock and Mycroft's childhood and how they became the men they are today. Each chapter is a stand-alone story set in the same universe. Now updated with An Essay On Solitude - admittedly this one got away from me a bit.
1. A Study In Brotherhood

**A Study In Brotherhood**

 _ **Saturday 22**_ _ **nd**_ _ **November 2014**_

"Lovely to see you again dear." Mrs Holmes said, kissing John on the cheek. Mr Holmes shook John's hand before stepping through the door. After waving them off, John shut the door behind Mr and Mrs Holmes and turned to face Sherlock and Mycroft who were stood side by side at the window. They both groaned in unison, matching looks of irritation on their faces.

"They're getting worse." Sherlock stated, dropping elegantly to the sofa with a huff.

"I don't understand. They are lovely." John said, receiving identical disparaging looks from Mycroft and Sherlock in reply. "I can't see how either of you could possibly be related to them." He hadn't intended on it sounding like quite such an insult.

"That's because-" Sherlock began.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft interrupted with a low undertone of warning, his back to them as he watched his parents getting into a taxi from the window.

"Because?" John prompted Sherlock to continue speaking.

Sherlock looked away from Mycroft. "Because we're not-"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft turned, he looked rattled.

Sherlock ignored Mycroft again and continued speaking. "We are not related to them."

"What?"

"Sherlock! For goodness sake!"

"Mycroft and I are not related to them. Not biologically."

"Sherlock that is quite enough!"

"You're adopted?"

"Yes."

"Since when?" John wasn't sure whether to believe this sudden revelation but Mycroft wasn't denying it, he looked angry but he wasn't denying it.

"Since we were children, John, it's not like they would have adopted us as adults, is it?"

"Sherlock! Hold your tongue!" Mycroft stood over his brother, anger coursing through him.

"So you're not actually brothers? Biologically, I mean." That would explain the lack of brotherly affection between them.

"Unfortunately we are … well half-brothers anyway." Sherlock ignored Mycroft glaring down at him. "We have the same mother but different fathers. His father left before he was even born, can't blame him, then our mother met my father." He said with a dismissive wave of his hand like this was all just a minor detail.

"Sherlock, I am warning you," Mycroft began in an eerily calm voice, "do not speak of that man in front of me."

"Oh do calm down Mycroft. You're being a drama queen."

A muscle twitched involuntarily in Mycroft's jaw. He stood silently for a moment, watching Sherlock. "Do not ever let me hear you talk of that man again. Have I made myself clear?"

"Mycroft-"

"Sherlock! Have I made myself clear?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good." With that Mycroft turned on his heel and left the flat, the door slamming behind him.

"What on Earth-" John said, looking between the door that Mycroft had exited through seconds before, and the chair that Sherlock was sat in.

Sherlock looked mildly guilty.

 _ **Monday 13**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1986**_

Eleven year old Mycroft crouched down low in the cupboard, holding his little brother tightly in his arms.

"My?"

"Ssh."

"Why's he so cross?"

"Please, Lockie, please, be quiet." Mycroft begged in a whisper.

Footsteps got closer to the cupboard and Mycroft took a deep breath, holding Sherlock even more tightly in his arms, twisting himself so that he was between his brother and the door.

The door opened suddenly and Mycroft flinched as it smashed against the wall. He pushed Sherlock behind him, squinting up at the bright light after hours hiding in the darkness.

A hand grabbed his collar and Mycroft let go of Sherlock just in time for him to be dragged from the cupboard. His head collided with the wall sending stars flying across his vision, distantly he could hear Sherlock screaming.

Mycroft felt a spike of pain go through his head, his vision blurred and a wave of nausea rushed through him. A kick to his stomach and he vomited a small amount of bile onto the threadbare carpet. He couldn't raise his arms to protect his head, the blows were coming too fast. His right eye was quickly swelling, limiting his vision further. Mycroft could just about see his brother, blurred but visible. Sherlock was still kneeling in the cupboard, sobbing silently.

Mycroft took one last look at his brother before his vision faded into darkness and he fell into oblivion.

Sherlock screwed his eyes up tightly when Mycroft lost consciousness. He closed his eyes and placed his hands over his ears, pretending desperately that it wasn't happening.

"My?" Sherlock whispered when he finally opened his eyes. The flat seemed empty except for the two of them, his father having finally left. "My! Wake up!" Sherlock took hold of his brother's shoulder and shook. Mycroft didn't move, he didn't even flinch.

"My?" Sherlock whimpered. He didn't know what to do. He hugged his brother tightly before jumping up and standing on his tiptoes to open the front door. The catch was tricky and he'd never opened it himself before but eventually he got the door open.

He left the front door open behind him, padding barefoot down the corridor, before knocking on a neighbours door. He waited for a few moments but there was no answer so he continued down the corridor knocking on doors until someone finally answered. A retired teacher opened the door, surprised to see a grubby toddler stood in front of her.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" She said kindly, noting his tear stained cheeks.

"It's My."

"It's your what, lovey?"

"No, it's My. My brother, My. Mycroft. He won't wake up."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't know. My needs help."

"Ok," she took a set of keys from behind the door and slipped a pair of shoes on, "show me where he is."

Sherlock took off back down the corridor as fast as his little legs could carry him. He'd carefully propped the door open before leaving so that he could get back in. He showed the kindly lady to where his brother was lying on the floor.

"What's his name?" She asked Sherlock, who had knelt down beside his brother.

"Mycroft."

"Do you have a phone?"

"A phone?" Sherlock looked confused.

The lady rolled Mycroft onto his side and stood up. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to phone an ambulance.

Sherlock heard her shuffle back down the corridor. He lay down beside Mycroft, resting his head against his brother's chest and pulling Mycroft's arm down over him. "She's gone to get an ambulance My." He whispered.

He cuddled up to his big brother until the lady returned. "There we go dear. Help is coming. Everything is going to be ok. Come and stand beside me now."

Sherlock obediently stood up, missing the comfort of his brother's contact immediately. Seeing this, the lady placed an arm gently around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock flinched away from her touch, moving back towards Mycroft instead.

"Where's your mummy, dear?" The lady said gently.

Sherlock shrugged.

"And your daddy?"

"Dunno. He banged My on the head and then went out."

The lady nodded, looking shocked at Sherlock's revelation. "Ok, lovey. What's your name?"

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock and Mycroft. What unusual names."

Sherlock shrugged. Were they? He'd not met enough people to know whether that was true or not.

There was a noise outside and suddenly the small flat was full of paramedics and police, their uniforms intimidating to the little boy. The paramedics knelt down beside Mycroft.

"What's his name?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock answered timidly, unsure of himself around so many people. The lady gently led Sherlock away from Mycroft and towards the waiting police officers.

"What's your name lad?" One of the officers asked, kneeling down in front of the boy.

"Sherlock." He said, twisting back to look over at his brother who was now hidden behind a paramedic.

"What's your last name?"

Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"Your surname?" Still no response. "My name is Alan Edwards." The police officer explained patiently. "Alan is my first name and Edwards is my last name. Do you know what your last name is?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's just Sherlock."

"Ok, Sherlock. How old are you?"

Sherlock frowned again.

"How many birthdays have you had?"

Sherlock didn't know what a birthday was.

"Where do you go to school?"

Sherlock knew what school was, he's seen it on the television. "We don't go to school."

The police officers exchanged a look.

"He said his daddy had hit older boy on the head and then went out." The lady said.

"Is that true?" The police officer asked.

Sherlock nodded. "We'd been hiding in the cupboard cos Daddy was so angry but he found us. My told me to be quiet but I wasn't and Daddy found us."

"It's ok, lad. This wasn't your fault."

Sherlock twisted back again to look at his brother. "Is My going to die?"

No one answered his question.

Sherlock tried to follow the paramedics when they removed Mycroft from the flat but the police officer held him back. "I need to go with My." He said, straining to get away.

"No, Sherlock, you can't go with them."

"But I need to stay with him."

"We'll take you to the hospital but you need to stay with us."

"Why can't I go with them?." Sherlock was still trying to pull his hand free from the police officer's grip.

"Because they need to concentrate on Mycroft."

"I won't get in the way."

"I know but there's not much space in an ambulance." The police officer said, his grip firm.

Sherlock gave in but he didn't look happy about it.

"Do you have some shoes you can put on Sherlock?"

"Shoes?"

"Yes," the police officer nodded down to the boots on his own feet, "do you have any?"

Sherlock looked down at his own socked feet, he shrugged.

"Ok, I'll have to carry you to the car then." Sherlock tensed as the police officer lifted him up, only relaxing again when he was put down onto the back seat of the police car. He jumped, feeling the vibrations when the engine was turned on, he'd never been in a car before.

They wouldn't let him see his brother when they got to the hospital, insisting that the doctors were looking after him. Instead they made him sit in a small room with the same police officer from the flat. He'd been offered toys and a colouring book to distract him but he'd not known what to do with either. He sat beside the police officer as patiently as possible until the door opened and the police officer looked up from where he was sat.

"Sherlock?" PC Edwards said. "This lady's name is Lizzy. She's a social worker and she's going to find somewhere safe for you to stay."

"Why can't I stay with Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, twisting a hand in his dark curls.

The lady, Lizzy, sat down beside Sherlock. "Mycroft is going to need to stay in hospital for a little while. The doctors here are going to take good care of him but he needs to stay here."

"Did I not get help fast enough? I knocked on lots of doors but no one answered."

"You did a very good job getting help. Mycroft is very lucky to have such a brave little brother but he needs to stay here for a little while so the doctors and nurses can look after him."

"Can I see him?"

"Not yet dear, not until he's feeling a bit better."

"When?"

"I'm not sure, a few days maybe."

"How many days?"

The social worker looked at the police officer, unsure how to answer Sherlock's determined questions. "I don't know, dear." She replied honestly. "As soon as he's feeling better."

She carried him out of the hospital and to an old, rusted VW Beetle. She buckled him into the back seat and closed the door. Sherlock felt a mixture of awe and nausea as the car was started and they pulled out of the car park, his second ever car trip.

She took him to a large house and buzzed the intercom.

"Hello?" A crackly voice came from the intercom.

Sherlock looked around for where the voice was coming from but couldn't see anyone. He watched Lizzy speak into the plastic box on the wall. "Hi it's Lizzy with Sherlock."

"Ok, two seconds."

The door opened and a man greeted them. He kissed Lizzy on the cheek and stood back to let them in. "Hello Sherlock, welcome to Willowbrook." He shut the door behind them and Sherlock peered around the hallway. He could see a child looking over the banisters. "Dinner will be in half an hour Lucas." The man called up the staircase. The little boy smiled and disappeared. "Come through." The man led Sherlock and Lizzy into a small sitting room.

"My name's Tom, you're going to stay here for a little while."

Sherlock didn't reply, he wasn't sure what was going on.

"This is a special place for children to live when they can't stay at home." Lizzy said.

"Why can't I stay with Mycroft."

"Because Mycroft needs to stay in hospital for a little while but as soon as he is well enough to leave the hospital you two will be together again."

"Here?"

"For a little while, until we can find you somewhere a bit more permanent. Somewhere with a nice family to take care of you. That's my job, to find you a nice family. But Tom will take care of you until then."

Sherlock nodded. "Ok."

"Are you hungry Sherlock?" Tom asked.

Sherlock shrugged.

"We're having lasagna tonight. Do you like lasagna?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it'll be ready soon, you can try some and if you don't like it we'll make you something else. What's your favourite thing to eat?"

Sherlock though about this for a few moments. To him, eating was something to do to stop the pain in his stomach. Eating was Mycroft scrabbling around in the kitchen looking for anything edible. "Mycroft makes me beans on toast sometimes, when the bread doesn't have green bits."

Tom and Lizzy exchanged a look, neglect. "Well, if you don't like lasagne, I'll make you beans on toast. How does that sound?"

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you." He said, remembering the manners that Mycroft had taught him.

"We've got five other children here at the moment, three boys and two girls. You've seen Lucas already but I'll introduce you to the others at dinner."

"I'm going now Sherlock." Lizzy stood up. "Tom will look after you. I'll come and see you tomorrow."

"What about Mycroft?"

"The doctors will let me know how he is, hopefully I should have more news tomorrow."

"Ok." Sherlock said quietly.

"Sit tight, Sherlock. I'll see Lizzy out and then I'll be back."

They shut the door behind them but Sherlock could still hear them talking.

"How is the other boy, really?" Tom was saying from the other side of the door.

"Not very well, the poor dear. He's taken a terrible beating."

"And no one knows anything about these boys?"

"Nothing at all. We can't find any record of them. It's like they just don't exist. We don't know their surname so we've not got a lot to go on but with names like Sherlock and Mycroft you'd think tracking them down would be easy. They don't seem to go to school so we'll probably need to get Mycroft a tutor so that he can catch up with his education, possibly Sherlock too. Poor dears."

"How old is Sherlock?"

"The doctor thinks about four but we're not sure, he doesn't seem to know."

"He looks younger than that."

"Yes, years of neglect will do that to a child. Anyway, I'd best be off, I need to head back to the hospital, Mycroft should be out of surgery now. Take good care of Sherlock."

"I will."

Sherlock heard the front door closing and footsteps returning to the sitting room. The door opened and Tom returned alone.

"Come on then Sherlock, time for dinner."

Sherlock stood and followed Tom into the dining room. Several children were already sat around a table.

"Take a seat, Sherlock. Everyone this is Sherlock." Tom pointed to each of the children in turn. "This is Jessica, Joe, Ben, Hannah and Lucas." Sherlock's mind was spinning and he couldn't remember any of the other children's names. He'd never met other children before, they were aliens to him.

A plate was put down in front of him and he frowned at it. "It's ok, Sherlock, just try it like we agreed."

Sherlock watched the other children pick up their cutlery and begin eating. He did the same but he had never used a knife and fork before so he was clumsy.

"Like this, Sherlock." Tom said, gently repositioning the cutlery in Sherlock's little hands.

"That's it."

Sherlock used the knife and fork to rip the lasagne apart and nibbled on a small piece. He could feel Tom watching him so he swallowed it down.

"Do you like it?"

Sherlock nodded, tearing another piece off and swallowing it reluctantly. He looked up again after a little while to see the other children had finished eating and were watching him curiously. He'd barely made an impact on the lasagne piled onto his plate.

"Can we go please? We'll be here forever if he carries on like that." One of the girls, Sherlock wasn't sure which, asked.

"You know the rule, no one leaves the table until everyone is finished." The children sighed slumping down in their chairs.

Another ten minutes of Sherlock slowly eating went by, the other children were getting more and more irritated with each passing minute. "You don't have to eat it all, if you've had enough you can stop." Tom said kindly, seeing Sherlock struggle.

Sherlock put the knife and fork down with a clatter like he'd seen the other children do. The other children jumped up from the table and left the room chattering as they went.

Sherlock trailed after Tom up the staircase, they stopped at a large airing cupboard on the first floor and Tom rifled through. He handed Sherlock a pair of stripped pyjamas, a t-shirt, jeans, jumper and underwear causing Sherlock to droop a little under the weight. "They should all fit you but I'll take you shopping tomorrow while everyone else is at school."

Tom opened a door to a bright room with two beds. "This is your bedroom. Do you normally sleep in the same room as your brother?"

Sherlock nodded, looking around the room.

"You might find it a bit quiet tonight then, but you can come and get me if you need anything. I'll show you where I sleep." Tom took the clothes from Sherlock, he left the pyjamas on the pillow and placed the rest of the clothes into a drawer. "Mycroft will sleep in here as well as soon as he's out of hospital."

Sherlock smile slightly in response.

"Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale."

Sherlock shook his head, clapping his hand over his mouth.

Tom picked him up and carried him down the hall to the nearest bathroom. He bent him over the toilet just in time for him to vomit his dinner back up. Tom rubbed his back gently, murmuring reassuring words. "All done? Let's get you tucked into bed and I'll bring you a glass of water."

 _ **Tuesday 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1986**_

Tom woke Sherlock the next morning. The little boy looked tired, he'd spent most of the night lying awake and missing his brother. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Sherlock shrugged miserably.

"Ready for some breakfast?"

The other children were already having breakfast when Sherlock entered the dining room.

Sherlock sat in the same seat as he had occupied the previous evening.

"Toast or cereal?"

Sherlock pointed at the toast, it was the only thing on the table that he recognised. Tom placed a piece on the plate before him. Sherlock picked it up and nibbled the corner.

"Don't you want some jam on it?"

Sherlock shook his head, eyeing the pot of strawberry jam suspiciously.

Tom helped Sherlock dress quickly while the other children were finishing their homework and packing their school bags.

"Shoes on everyone," Tom remembered that Sherlock had been barefoot the previous night. "Lucas, can Sherlock wear your trainers today. I'll buy him some while you're at school."

"Ok," Lucas nodded, "but be careful with them, they're new."

"Good boy." Tom helped Sherlock put the shoes on and did the Velcro up tightly, they were a little loose but they would do the job for one day.

Sherlock smiled tentatively at Lucas, wiggling his feet in the trainers.

"Everyone out to the car then. Have you got your PE kit, Ben?" Tom herded the group out to the minibus that was parked on the drive.

They dropped the other children at their primary school before carrying on into town.

"Why were they all wearing the same clothes?" Sherlock asked quietly, relaxing a little at the peace in the car without the gaggle of kids.

"Huh?" Tom didn't look up from the road. "That's their school uniform."

"What's school uniform."

"It's what you wear to school. Each school has one." He pointed at a small group of teenagers crossing the road in front of him. "Those children go to the local secondary school. See how they are wearing the same. That's their uniform."

"Why do schools have uniforms?"

"Er, well I think it helps all children feel equal and gives them a sense of belonging."

"Oh." Sherlock stared out of the window again. "Mycroft and I don't go to school."

"You will soon. But to begin with I expect you and Mycroft will have a teacher come to you, to help you catch up with other children your age."

They parked in a car park on the edge of the town centre. Sherlock watched as many people as possible as they walked to the high street. Tom took hold of Sherlock's hand to prevent him from getting lost before stopping them suddenly outside a shop.

"What's _Mothercare_?" Sherlock asked, spelling the word out carefully.

"It's the name of the shop." Tom said in surprise. "Can you read?"

Sherlock nodded. "Mycroft taught me."

"Do you know who taught Mycroft?" Tom asked, wondering if Mycroft had been to school after all.

"The TV, before it broke and he taught me. He'd breathe on the window to make it all steamy and then draw letters with his finger.

"That was very clever of him."

Sherlock shrugged.

They walked straight passed the nursery furniture and to the children's clothes. Tom picked up a T-shirt with 'P is for Pirate' emblazoned across the chest. "Do you like this one?"

"What's a _pirate_?" Sherlock asked, mispronouncing it slightly.

"A pirate sails around the world on a big ship and has lots of adventures and goes 'arghh'"

"Arghh!" Sherlock imitated, giggling.

"That's it, they're very brave and they wear eye patches." Tom covered one eye with his hand.

"I'm going to be a pirate." Sherlock declared.

"We'd better get you a pirate t-shirt then!"

Tom piled the basket with clothes for Sherlock. Trousers, t-shirts, jumpers were all thrown in, a number of pirate related clothing joined the pile. Sherlock pointed to each pirate and said 'arghh' gleefully.

Tom eventually decided they had enough clothes for Sherlock and looked for the till. Something caught Tom's attention and he deviated towards. "You'll need one of these if you're going to be a pirate, Captain Sherlock." He took something from the shelf and handed it to Sherlock.

"What is it?"

"It's a pirate sword, look." Tom pointed to a pirate on one of the t-shirts they had picked up.

"All pirates need swords."

Sherlock held the sword proudly as they walked back to the minibus, both of them weighed down with carrier bags.

"Is Lizzy coming back today?" Sherlock asked as they unpacked his new clothes, trying them on before folding them neatly into drawers.

"Yes, I think she's going to come after lunch. She phoned last night to say that she would visit Mycroft this morning then see you this afternoon."

Sherlock bit his lip anxiously when Tom said his brother's name.

"Are you worrying about Mycroft?"

Sherlock nodded.

"The doctors are taking very good care of him at the hospital, Lizzy should have more news for you when she comes."

Sherlock tried a few bites of his sandwich at lunch, not letting go of his sword for a moment. He settled down with a book after lunch while Tom washed up their breakfast and lunch dishes.

Tom left Sherlock alone for a moment to answer the door, returning with Lizzy.

"Hello Sherlock."

"How's My?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"He's feeling a bit better."

"Can I see him?"

"Not just yet. He's sleeping a lot so that he can get better as quickly as possible. I'm going to see him again tomorrow."

"Can I come with you? Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow, perhaps the next day."

"Ok."

"Is that your pirate sword?" Lizzy asked, Tom had mentioned Sherlock's interest in pirates when he met her at the door.

"Yes, I'm going to use it to stop anyone hurting My again."

 _ **Wednesday 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1986**_

Lizzy returned to the hospital the following morning and was pleased to see Mycroft awake and looking a little better. "Hello Mycroft, how are you feeling?" Lizzy smiled as she entered the room.

"Where's my brother?"

"It's ok, he's safe. We're taking good care of him. I thought I'd bring him to see you tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it."

Mycroft nodded. "I want to see him."

"You will, as soon as you're feeling well enough."

"I'm well enough."

"It might scare him, seeing you with so poorly."

Mycroft considered this. "Ok."

"Now, Mycroft, my name's Lizzy, I'm a social worker. It's my job to make sure that children are safe. We don't think that you and Sherlock will able to go home, at least not for a while. Sherlock told us that it was your father who hurt you."

"He's not my father! He's Sherlock's father but not mine."

"Ok, do you know what his name is? Sherlock's father I mean."

"Ryan."

"And was it Ryan who hurt you?"

"Yes."

"And has he hurt you before?"

"Yes."

"What about your mother, do you know where she is?"

"Pub probably."

"What's your mum's name?"

"Jenny."

"And do you know your last name? Sherlock didn't seem to know."

"Evans. That's mum's last name anyway. I'm not sure about Ryan."

"Have you or Sherlock ever been to school?"

"No, I tried to teach Sherlock myself."

"He said that you taught him to read. You must have been very clever to do that."

Mycroft shook his head. "Ryan says that I'm stupid."

"Well, I think he was wrong about that. You don't seem stupid to me. You seem very clever."

Mycroft shrugged.

"You're looking tired, darling. Shall I leave you now to have a little rest. Would you like me to bring anything in for you. Some books perhaps?"

"Thank you."

 _Sherlock_

"How's Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, he'd run to the front door as soon as he heard the buzzer.

"He's feeling much better. I had a nice chat with him. He asked about you. I'll take you to see him tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"Can I take my sword?"

 _ **Thursday 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1986**_

The following day Sherlock was finally taken back to the hospital to see his brother. Lizzy held Sherlock's hand tightly as she pushed open the door to the hospital room.

"My?" Sherlock whispered.

Something stirred in the bed. Sherlock let go of Lizzy's hand and ran towards it. Mycroft was lying there looking small and pale, his bruises stood out starkly on his face.

"Hi Lock."

Sherlock's bottom lip trembled at the sound of his brother's voice. He burst into tears, three days of fear and uncertainty, three nights of little sleep and it had finally become too much for him, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Ssh. It's ok, Lockie." Mycroft shuffled awkwardly in bed, hiding the pain. He patted the empty space on the bed beside him.

Sherlock struggled up onto the bed and lay down beside his brother, sword still in hand.

"I hear that you got me help, Lock."

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes and resting his head on Mycroft's chest.

"That was very brave of you. Thank you."

"I was very scared." Sherlock whispered.

"I know but everything is going to be ok now."

"They've taken Daddy away."

"I know."

"And they can't find Mummy."

Mycroft nodded.

"Lizzy said that we're not going to live with them again."

"Yes."

"That's good." Sherlock said. "Isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You're not going away too, are you?"

"No, Lockie, I'm never leaving you. I promise. I'll always take care of you."

"And I'll always look after you My." Sherlock said, putting his thin arms around his brother's neck, hitting him accidently with the sword.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm."

"What are you holding?"

"My pirate sword. I'll use it to stop anyone hurting you again. I'm going to be a pirate My."

 _ **Wednesday 29**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1986**_

"Hello Mycroft." Tom said, answering the door to him and Lizzy. "It's nice to meet you at last. Sherlock has told us a lot about you."

Hearing voices at the door, Sherlock hurried down the hall and ran head first into Mycroft. Sherlock flung his arms around his brother's waist and hugged him tightly.

"Gently, Sherlock, Mycroft is still a bit sore." Lizzy said, smiling down at the brothers.

Sherlock backed off, looking up at his brother.

"It's ok Lockie." Mycroft knelt down, flinching in pain, and pulled Sherlock into his arms.

"You're ok? Aren't you?" He whispered into Sherlock's ear, feeling the nodded reply.

Lizzy and Tom stepped down the hall to give them a moment alone.

"Are you hungry or thirsty Mycroft?" Tom asked when the brothers had finally pulled apart.

"No thank you." He replied, not taking his eyes off his brother's face.

"The food here doesn't have any green bits on." Sherlock said, cheerfully.

"Why don't you show Mycroft your bedroom, Sherlock?"

"Come on." Sherlock led Mycroft up the stairs, one hand holding onto Mycroft and the other holding his sword.

"That's your bed My." Sherlock said, pointing. "This is mine." Sherlock put his sword down on his bed. "My clothes are in the bottom drawers and you can have the top because I can't reach them."

Mycroft sat down on his bed. He felt weary. Old beyond his years.

"My?"

"I'm ok."

Sherlock sat down on the bed beside him, he rested his head against his brother's arm.

"Don't let them take me away from you again." Sherlock murmured.

"I won't." Mycroft whispered. "I promise. I will never let anyone take you away from me."

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Tom's head appeared around the door. "Can I come in." There was no answer from either boy so Tom entered the room anyway.

"How are you feeling, Mycroft?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You need to let me know if you are in pain."

"I will." Mycroft lied.

"Good lad. I'm sure you'll settle in here quick enough, Sherlock has, haven't you?"

Sherlock nodded, his head still resting against Mycroft.

 _ **Monday 3**_ _ **rd**_ _ **February 1986**_

"Now," Mr Williams said as the boys sat down at the dining room table. "I understand that you can both read and write but you've never been to school?"

Mycroft nodded, looking nervously at this man with a pile of books in front of him.

"I'd like you to answer a few questions for me." Mr Williams took two sheets of paper from his folder and put them in front of Sherlock and Mycroft. "This is just so I can get an idea of what you know. So if there's any words that you don't understand, just ask me." He handed them pencils. "Just write your answers in the boxes below each question."

Mycroft pulled the sword from Sherlock's hand and placed it out of his reach.

"Hey! That's mine." Sherlock cried.

"Pay attention." Mycroft picked up Sherlock's pencil and handed it to him.

"You'll find the questions will get harder as you go through the test so let me know when you can't do any more."

 _Sherlock_

"I'll see you tomorrow then." Mr Williams said with a stunned smile.

Mycroft handed Sherlock his sword back and got up from the table. "Thank you." He said politely, elbowing Sherlock to make him do the same.

Lizzy shut the door behind them as they left the room and turned to Mr Williams.

"How did they do?"

Mr Williams handed the papers over to her. "They are both well above the level that I would expect them to be even if they had been to school. They both seem to be using logic to answer questions that they shouldn't be able to answer."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the Mycroft and Sherlock are genius'. I'm not exaggerating. I mean that in the literal sense of the word. I think if we measured their IQs they would easily fall into the genius category."

 _ **Thursday 13**_ _ **th**_ _ **March 1986**_

Mr Williams handed the exercise book back to Mycroft. "That's not quite right. Can you try it again."

Mycroft froze, his face flushed in embarrassment.

Sherlock grinned at his brother's embarrassment. "Mycroft got a question wrong?"

"Shut up, Sherlock!" Mycroft muttered under his breath.

Mr Williams frowned at Sherlock. "Don't be so mean!"

"Daddy always says that My is stupid!"

"Sherlock!"

"What? Daddy says it all the time. A stupid, little bastard. That's what he said, isn't it My?"

If possible, Mycroft's face had become even redder. He stared down at the question that he had got wrong. The world collapsing around him.

"Sherlock, could you go and get me a glass of water please?" Mr Williams asked, his attention focussed on Mycroft.

"But-"

"Please Sherlock. Now."

With a sigh, Sherlock got up and left the room.

"You aren't stupid, Mycroft. You really aren't." Mr Williams slid the paper across the table and out of Mycroft's sight.

Mycroft continued staring at the now empty space of the table. "Yes I am."

"No, the questions that you are answering are part of an O Level Maths paper. Do you know what that means?"

Mycroft shook his head miserably.

"O Level exams are taken by sixteen year olds. You're eleven. So you're working well above your age group. You really are not stupid."

Mycroft still did not look convinced but Sherlock chose that moment to return to the room with the glass of water and no more was said on the subject.

 _ **Monday 7**_ _ **th**_ _ **April 1986**_

Sherlock sat in the back of the car uncomfortably scratching at the collar of his itchy, new school shirt. He'd unhappily said goodbye to Mycroft that morning and was now approaching the primary school.

Tom parked the minibus and the other children piled out. Sherlock remained sat where he was.

"Come on Sherlock, out you get."

He sighed loudly, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the minibus.

"You'll be in the same class as Lucas, you know."

Sherlock looked up at Lucas who smiled warmly.

"Mrs Groves is really nice, honest." Lucas said reassuringly.

Sherlock didn't look convinced.

Tom led him into the classroom with Lucas.

"Hello, Sherlock, it's very nice to meet you." Mrs Groves said, she reminded Sherlock as little of the nice lady who had called the ambulance for Mycroft. "You can sit beside Lucas and he'll take care of you."

Sherlock sat quietly throughout the mornings lessons, not paying a lot of attention. He wanted to be with Mycroft learning interesting things, not reading a book about a boy and his ball. Sherlock didn't have the faintest clue as to why he should care about a boy and his ball but the other children seemed fascinated by it. Lucas kept looking over at him and asking if he was alright. Sherlock nodded but really he wanted to shout 'no' on the top of his voice. And more than anything he wanted to be at home with his brother.

He was confused when all of the other children suddenly stood up and left the classroom.

"Come on Sherlock, it's playtime." Lucas said.

Sherlock stood and collected his coat from the cloak room before going out to the playground. Lucas ran on ahead leaving Sherlock stood away from the other children.

"Come on, we're playing football." Lucas gestured for Sherlock to join them but Sherlock shook his head. He didn't want to play football, he didn't want to read stories about a boy and his ball and he certainly didn't want to stand on this playground while a group of silly girls pointed at him and laughed.

He slowly edged away from the other children until he was stood at the corner of the school building, a few more inches and he would be out of sight. He checked that no one was looking and then stepped around the corner. He could see the school gates from here. He ran towards them expecting to be stopped and frogmarched back into school at any moment but it didn't happen. Outside the gates, he paused for a minute, closing his eyes and picturing the route they had taken to school that morning, if he just reversed it then he would be home again with Mycroft.

No one seemed to notice a little boy walking along a busy road, he walked past the newsagents and stopped at the corner, unsure which way to go. He realised he needed to cross the road and stood for several minutes at the edge of the pavement trying to judge the speed of the cars, they all seemed impossibly fast and he was sure that he would never be able to get across the road before the next one came. Eventually there was a lull in the traffic and he was able to run across the road. Still no one spotted him walking alone. It took him nearly an hour to get home after taking several wrong turns, his legs were tired and his new school shoes were starting to rub his feet.

He banged on the door, unable to reach the doorbell. The door opened, and a concerned looking Tom was stood there. He looked relieved when he saw Sherlock stood on the doorstep.

"Sherlock, thank God you're alright."

Sherlock stepped in through the door and wriggled out of his coat, handing it to Tom to hang up.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing? Did you walk here from school?"

Sherlock nodded, walking down the hall in search of Mycroft.

The dining room door opened and out came Mycroft. "Sherlock!" Mycroft dropped down onto his knees and wrapped his arms around his brother. "I was so worried."

"Why?"

"The school called, said you'd disappeared. We didn't know where you were." Tom said.

Sherlock smiled at his brother who looked crossly down at him.

"Why did you run away, Sherlock?"

"Didn't like it."

"Oh, for goodness sake." Tom looked exasperated. "I'll phone the school and let them know that you're ok and then drive you back."

"Nope." Sherlock said, going into the dining room and sitting up at the table. Mr Williams was sat there with a pile of books. "What are we doing?" Sherlock asked. "They were reading the stupidest book ever at school."

" _You_ are going back to school." Tom said firmly, following Sherlock into the room with Mycroft.

Sherlock pulled Mycroft's exercise book towards them so he could read it. "Maths? Good."

"Sherlock, are you listening to me?"

"Yes but I'm not going back to school, not until Mycroft goes too."

"Mycroft won't be going to that school." The tutor said.

"What?" Sherlock looked outraged. "Why not?"

"Because he's too old for it. He'll be going to the secondary school as soon as he has caught up."

Sherlock looked momentarily wrong-footed. "Well, when will I be old enough to go to that school?"

"In about seven years."

"Then I won't go to school until then."

"In seven years Mycroft won't be at the school either, he'll be too old."

"So we won't ever be at school together?"

"No Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Sherlock looked up at his brother who had sat down beside him. "Then I'm never going to school."

"For goodness sake." Tom muttered before leaving the room to phone the school back.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft began.

"Are you cross with me?"

"No, well, yes actually. That was stupid of you, running away from school, anything could have happened."

"Like what?"

"You could have been hit by a car or someone could have kidnapped you. You must never do that again."

"Sorry, My."

"Just promise that you won't do it again."

"I promise."

 _ **Tuesday 8**_ _ **th**_ _ **April 1986**_

"Come on Sherlock, you need to get dressed for school." Tom called from the hallway. Sherlock had been dragging his feet all morning and had finally got out of bed.

Sherlock thought, if he didn't get dressed, did that mean he couldn't go to school? He pulled the sheet from his bed and wrapped it around himself. "Today I'm being a Roman." He stated to Mycroft before going downstairs for breakfast.

"Sherlock, I told you to get dressed." Tom said as Sherlock walked into the dining room.

"I am dressed. I'm dressed as a Roman."

"He means your school uniform." Mycroft grumbled, pouring Sherlock a glass of orange juice.

"But I'm not going to school today." Sherlock took a piece of toast and chewed on the edge.

"Yes you are."

"Nope, I'm staying here with My."

"You must go to school. It's the law."

"Then why doesn't Mycroft have to?"

"Because he has a teacher come to him instead." Tom said, causing Mycroft to flush with embarrassment.

"Just go to school Lock. Like normal children do." Mycroft muttered.

"Fine."

"And don't even think about doing what you did yesterday." Mycroft said irritably.

"I promise."

Two hours later Mycroft's lesson was disturbed by Tom sticking his head around the door. "I'm just popping out, you'll be ok here for five minutes, right?"

"No problem." Mr Williams said.

Mycroft looked up from his book. "Is it Sherlock?"

"The school just phoned, he's been sick."

"Really?" Mycroft said, raising his eyebrows. Tom shrugged and left.

Five minutes later, Mycroft looked up from his book, hearing a commotion outside.

"Can I sit in the dining room?" He heard Sherlock ask.

"You need to go to bed if you're sick." Tom replied.

"But I don't want to miss anything. I'll put my pyjamas on."

"No Sherlock, if you're too ill for school then you're too ill to sit in Mycroft's lessons. And you're not playing pirates either."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Sleep."

"Dull."

 _ **Wednesday 9**_ _ **th**_ _ **April 1986**_

The following morning Tom tried to convince Sherlock to put his school uniform on.

"No!" Sherlock said, slipping away from Tom and hiding under Mycroft's bed.

"If you don't come out now, I'm going to have to call Lizzy and get her to come and talk to you."

"Fine." Sherlock called from underneath the bed.

Tom sighed and left Sherlock alone under the bed.

Sherlock heard the bedroom door open a little while later and felt the bed move as someone sat down on it.

"Hello Sherlock." Lizzy said quietly. "Tom's told me that you're refusing to go to school, will you come out from there and talk to me about it?"

"Nope."

"Can I come down there?"

"I suppose."

Lizzy sighed loudly and lowered herself down onto the floor, she stuck her head under the bed and found Sherlock with his pirate sword in his hand.

"Why don't you want to go to school?"

"Didn't like it."

"Why not?"

"Because Mycroft wasn't there."

"Sherlock, sweetheart, your brother isn't going to be with you all the time. When you're adults you won't be able spend every single day together.

"Yes we will. Mycroft said he'd never leave me."

"Spending a few hours apart doesn't mean he's leaving you."

"I'm not going to school. I didn't like it. You can't make me."

Lizzy sighed, it was true, they couldn't physically drag Sherlock to school. "I'll be back in a minute."

Lizzy went downstairs, calling for Mr Williams and Tom to join her.

"I don't think we can convince Sherlock to go back to school. And if we force him we're going to do more harm than good."

"To be honest, I'm not sure that a school is the best place for Sherlock." Mr Williams said.

"What do you mean? He's four, he has to go to school."

"Sherlock, like Mycroft, is a genius. An ordinary school is never going to challenge them."

"So what are you saying? We just keep both boys out of school?"

"It might be for the best, allow them to gain a bit of confidence. Mycroft is still convinced that he's stupid and Sherlock is terrified of being away from his brother."

"They need to learn how to integrate with other children." Tom said. "They barely acknowledge the other children in the house, they've no idea how to talk to them."

"Exactly, I'm not sure that they'll cope in a school at the moment. They have no experience with other kids, they're completely unprepared for a classroom."

"Ok, we'll keep them out of school for the rest of the month and see how their doing then. Perhaps we were too quick in trying to get them into school." Lizzy said, pacifying the two men.

 _ **Saturday 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **September 1986**_

"Who are those people, My?" Sherlock whispered, seeing a couple standing talking to Lizzy.

"Ssh, I'm listening."

Sherlock fell silent and listened too.

"They're both still very traumatised by what happened." Lizzy was saying. "You'll need to take things very slowly."

The lady stood with Lizzy was nodding and trying not to look through the window at Mycroft and Sherlock.

The door opened and Lizzy led the couple into the room. They sat down opposite the brothers with warm smiles on their faces.

"Mycroft, Sherlock, this is James and Eleanor Holmes. They'd like to get to know you, if that's ok with you."

Sherlock remained still, looking to Mycroft who nodded silently.

"It's lovely to meet you two at last. Lizzy has told us so much about you." Eleanor said.

"Are you sad because you can't have children?" Sherlock blurted out before looking at Mycroft for reassurance. Mycroft silenced him with a look.

Eleanor looked at her husband.

"How do you know that?" James asked.

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft who nodded slightly. "You look sad when you think no one is looking at you." He said to Eleanor. "You're not sure that you should be here but you want to make her happy." He added to James. "The others here, they said that we're damaged and that no one would want us. You must really want children if you want to meet us. We heard Lizzy telling Tom that we wouldn't be sent to a family with children because they don't like us so you don't have any children already." Sherlock looked at Mycroft again for reassurance that his deductions were correct.

"That's incredible." James raised his eyebrows.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock said, surprised.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Shut up'."

James and Eleanor smiled at each other.

"Lizzy has told us that you're both very good at maths. I'm a mathematician."

Mycroft perked up. "Really? Can you teach me integration? I don't think Mr Williams really understands it." He asked eagerly.

Eleanor nodded, looking impressed. "I certainly can."

 _ **Saturday 20**_ _ **th**_ _ **September 1986**_

"Hello Sherlock, hello Mycroft." Eleanor said, stepping into the room. "How are you?"

Sherlock smiled at her, coming over to stand beside her. Mycroft remained by the window, watching carefully.

James shook hands with Lizzy in the corridor before joining his wife in the room. "Hello boys. We thought we might go to the science museum in London today. Would you like that?"

Sherlock face lit up at the idea. "Yes, please." He turned to look at Mycroft who shrugged.

"Would you like to go to the science museum Mycroft?" Eleanor asked. "We could do something else if you don't."

"Please can we go to the science museum? My? Please?" Sherlock begged his brother. "Please, My?"

Mycroft nodded hesitantly. "Fine."

Eleanor smiled. "Ok, let's get go then."

Mycroft tugged on Sherlock's arm as they all left the room, pulling him back.

"What, My?"

"Stop being so friendly, Lock."

"Why?"

"Just … don't trust them. We don't know whether we can trust them."

Sherlock turned to look between his brother and the Holmes'. "But they're ok, aren't they?"

"I don't know. We don't know them."

"Ok. But we can still go to the museum?"

"Yes, of course. Just be less … keen."

The car ride to London was tense. Sherlock kept opening his mouth to ask a question but would look over at Mycroft and shut his mouth again without speaking. Eleanor and James exchanged a look from the front seats.

Sherlock couldn't contain his excitement when they got to the museum, he ran forwards looking at every exhibit he could see. He pulled on James' sleeve, pointing at everything and asking questions. Mycroft hung back awkwardly, taking in the crowds. Eleanor looked between the two brothers.

"Are you ok, Mycroft?" She said quietly.

"There's a lot of people." He murmured.

"Oh," she looked around, "yes, I suppose there are. It will get quieter when we get further into the museum and people are more spread out." They had discussed getting the tube to the museum and she was glad now that they hadn't.

Mycroft lost sight of his brother. "Where's Sherlock gone?" He asked anxiously, panic spiking through him.

"It's ok, he's with James. Look, he's over there." She pointed to where he was stood beside James, pointing up at a working model of the solar system.

Mycroft strode over to Sherlock and grabbed his hand tightly. "Don't run off Sherlock!" He said.

"I didn't. I was just here." Sherlock pulled his hand from Mycroft's tight grasp.

"Just stay with me!"

"It's ok, boys." James said. "You're both safe here with us."

"Stay with me." Mycroft looked at his brother.

"Ok, My." Sherlock relented.

 _ **Monday 23**_ _ **rd**_ _ **September 1986**_

Lizzy turned up at the house just as Mr Williams was leaving. Sherlock, sword in hand, was fighting with a dining room chair while Mycroft carefully piled their books into a stack and put them away for the following day.

"Hello boys." She said, coming into the room. "How was your lesson?"

"Very good thank you." Mycroft replied, ignoring the accidental blow from Sherlock's plastic sword.

"Can we have a little chat?" She asked, sitting down at the table.

Mycroft took the sword from Sherlock's grip and pulled a chair out for him to sit on.

"Have we done something wrong?" Sherlock asked, trying to reach for his sword.

"Ssh, Sherlock, she's here about Mr and Mrs Holmes."

"Oh?" Sherlock looked carefully at Lizzy. "I see now."

"Right." Lizzy began, shaking off the feeling that both boys had read her mind. "I've spoken to them and they wanted me to tell you that they very much enjoyed spending Saturday with you."

"There was a massive model of the solar system. I saw the sun going the Earth!" Sherlock said gleefully.

"Wrong way around Sherlock." Mycroft sighed.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"So did you both have a good time?" Lizzy asked.

"There were dinosaurs too. They were huge!"

"Mycroft? Did you enjoy your day out?"

Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock liked seeing all of the exhibits." He said quietly.

"But did you enjoy yourself?"

Mycroft frowned. Hadn't he just answered that question? "Yes." He replied eventually.

"Do they like us?" Sherlock suddenly piped up.

"Yes, they do, very much so. They would like to keep seeing you, if that's ok with you."

"Yes." Sherlock answered for both of them.

"They would like you two to go and spend the night at their house."

"To sleep there?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes. Would that be ok?"

"I suppose so." Mycroft said, looking over at Sherlock's smiling face.

 _ **Friday 3**_ _ **rd**_ _ **October 1986**_

"Well here we are." James said as they parked outside a large house.

"How many people live here?" Sherlock asked, this house was almost as big as the block of flats that they used to live in.

"Just us."

"No one else?"

"No, just Eleanor and I."

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft and could see that he was just as surprised but hiding it well.

James took their overnight bags from the boot of the car and unlocked the front door.

"Shall we give you a little tour of the house and then you can settle in." Eleanor said, helping Sherlock with his coat.

Sherlock and Mycroft trailed after the couple, trying to take the scale of the house in. On the top floor, Eleanor led them into a large bedroom.

"And this is your bedroom Sherlock, and Mycroft yours is next door." Sherlock looked up suddenly. Mycroft shook his head once, forbidding Sherlock from opening his mouth.

After an enjoyable evening playing board games and letting Sherlock win, both boys went into their separate rooms and got into bed. James and Eleanor wished them a good night and turned off the lights.

Mycroft struggled to fall asleep despite the comfortable mattress and the warm duvet, instead he lay awake listening to the sounds of the strange house. Suddenly, he sat up in bed as he heard the door open. Alert.

"My?" He heard Sherlock whisper from the door.

Mycroft switched the bedside lamp on, illuminating the small boy stood in the doorway.

"I can't sleep, I don't like it by myself. Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Come in." Mycroft said, sighing with relief, he'd been lying in bed for hours missing his brother.

Sherlock climbed into his brothers bed and Mycroft turned the lamp back off, plunging them into darkness.

"Why do they want us to sleep in different rooms?" Sherlock whispered.

"I don't know." Mycroft sighed as Sherlock cuddled up to him.

"I think they're nice though. Don't you?"

"Yes." Mycroft said putting his arms around his brother. "I think they are."

"Are they going to adopt us?" Sherlock asked.

"I think they want to."

"Will we let them?"

"Do you want to live here? With them?" Mycroft said.

"I think so."

"Me too."

"So we will let them?"

"Yes. But don't say anything to them yet. Or to Lizzy."

"They're different, aren't they?"

"Different?"

"Yes. To our parents. They're different."

Sherlock felt his brother nod into the darkness. "They're very different."

 _ **Saturday 4**_ _ **th**_ _ **October 1986**_

Eleanor knocked gently on Sherlock's bedroom door, there was no answer, so she opened it quietly revealing an empty bed. She looked around the room.

"James? Have you seen Sherlock? He's not in his bed."

"Perhaps he's in the bathroom." James replied, knocking on Mycroft's door. "Good morning, Mycroft." He called before gesturing for Eleanor to join him.

"What is it? Oh." She saw Mycroft and Sherlock curled up in bed beside each other, Mycroft's arm was draped protectively over his brother.

James and Eleanor closed the door quietly and went down to the kitchen. The kitchen door opened fifteen minutes later and Mycroft peered through.

"Morning Mycroft, come in." Eleanor said with a warm smile.

Mycroft pushed the door open further and led Sherlock in behind him.

"Good morning, Sherlock. Did you two sleep well?" James asked, pouring them a glass of orange juice each.

"Yes thank you." Mycroft stood awkwardly beside the kitchen table.

"Sit down, sweethearts."

Mycroft pulled a chair out for Sherlock and helped him onto it before sitting down himself.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Cereal please." Sherlock said, taking his glass of orange juice from James.

"Mycroft?"

"Cereal as well please."

Mycroft ate quickly and then sat beside Sherlock as he dawdled through his breakfast, splashing milk onto the table and down his pyjama top.

"Come into the study, Mycroft. I've got some books that I think may interest you." James said, placing Mycroft's empty bowl into the sink.

Mycroft smiled shyly and stood up, following James from the room, quickly glancing back at Sherlock to check he was alright.

"Did you sleep well Sherlock?" Eleanor asked.

Sherlock nodded, spooning cereal into his mouth.

"Did you spend the night in Mycroft's room?"

Sherlock looked up from his bowl, frowning.

"It's ok if you did."

Sherlock nodded apprehensively.

"Why did you sleep in Mycroft's room?"

"We always sleep in the same room. I can't sleep unless he's there. I had to sleep in a different room when he was in hospital and I didn't like it. My doesn't either."

"What about if we put both beds into one room. Would you prefer that?"

"Yes!"

 _ **Monday 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **October 1986**_

"So how was it?" Lizzy asked, sitting down beside Mycroft. Tom had taken Sherlock to the bathroom to clean him up after an art session with Mr Williams. Sherlock's absences gave her a rare opportunity to talk to Mycroft alone.

"It was very pleasant, thank you." He replied formally.

"They'd like you and Sherlock to stay again, the weekend after next, I think."

"Ok."

"Do you want to stay with them again? You know you don't have to."

"Sherlock likes them."

"But what about you? Your opinion is just as important as Sherlock's."

"As long as Sherlock is happy."

"But what would make you happy?"

"I…" Mycroft faltered. "I want…"

Sherlock burst into the room, paint-free.

Mycroft looked at his brother who was grinning happily at him. "As long as Sherlock is happy."

Lizzy sighed.

 _ **Monday 27**_ _ **th**_ _ **October 1986**_

"It might take a little while to settle in." Lizzy said from the front of the car.

"We've stayed before. Lots of times." Sherlock said.

Lizzy looked in here rear view mirror, catching sight of Mycroft's pale face. "This isn't going to be like your old home. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course. Our old home was a tiny flat but James and Eleanor life in a huge house."

"What I mean is that they'll take very good care of you. And they won't hurt you."

"You don't know that." Mycroft said quietly. So quietly that Lizzy could barely hear him.

"You've got my phone number. If anyone ever hurts you then you can phone me and I'll come and get you straight away. Or you can phone the police. But they aren't like that, James and Eleanor are good people."

"Our Mummy and Daddy weren't good people." Sherlock said, reaching over and taking hold of Mycroft's hand. Mycroft jumped at the sudden contact. He turned from staring out of the window and looked down at his brother.

 _ **Monday 22**_ _ **nd**_ _ **December 1986**_

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, peering over the pile of blankets to where Mycroft was sat cross legged on the floor.

Mycroft jumped, he hadn't realised Sherlock was awake. "I'm counting my pocket money."

"Why?"

"Because we need to buy James and Eleanor a Christmas present." He pushed the tower of counted coins over in frustration. "I don't think I have enough."

"Why do we need to get them a present?"

"Because they'll get us presents and we need to show them that we appreciate them and it's expected … it's normal." He was breathless with bubbling anxiety, he closed his eyes, trying to reign in the panic.

Sherlock pushed the blankets back and hopped out of bed. He picked up his piggy bank from his bedside table and knelt down beside Mycroft. "Here." He said quietly, emptying the coins onto Mycroft's pile.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft opened his eyes, hearing the jingle of coins.

"Is that enough?"

"But you're saving for that pirate costume."

"I know. I can start saving again. I want to get James and Eleanor a present too. Is that enough?"

"Yes. I think so."

"What are we going to get them?"

"I have an idea. We need to go in town today."

They washed and dressed quickly and went down to breakfast. Sherlock watched Mycroft during breakfast, wondering why he kept looking over at the left-hand drawer in the dresser.

"Can Sherlock and I go in town today?" Mycroft asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Yes, of course. I'll take you in later." Eleanor said.

"No!" He said sharply. "Can we go alone? I know which bus to catch."

"I'm not sure…" Eleanor said, looking over to James.

James glanced up from his newspaper, looking over at Mycroft curiously. "Let them go." He said after a second. "I'm sure they'll be fine. They can call us from a telephone box if they need us. You know how to use one, don't you?"

Mycroft nodded, relaxing slightly.

"Go after breakfast but you must be home by lunch time. And you mustn't talk to any strangers. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Mycroft said.

"And you Sherlock? Do you promise to stay with Mycroft? And hold his hand when you cross the road?"

"I promise."

"Ok." James said, patting Eleanor's hand to reassure her.

They finished breakfast and James went in to his study to work, leaving the three of them sat in the kitchen. Eleanor got up from the table to wash the dishes.

"I need you to distract her for a few minutes, get her out of the kitchen." Mycroft whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, he stood up. "I can't find my sword, can you help me?" He said to Eleanor, pulling on her sleeve.

"Mycroft, can you help Sherlock find his sword."

"No! I want you to help me."

"Ok, dear." She said drying her hands. "Where did you last see it?"

Sherlock took her hand in his and lead her out of the room. Mycroft waited until he could hear them on the stairs before jumping up and quietly opening the drawer in the dresser. He rifled around for a second before taking something and sliding it safely into his pocket. He returned to the table and calmly continued drinking his tea.

A few minutes later he heard Sherlock and Eleanor coming back down the stairs. Mycroft could hear Sherlock chattering away, a rhythmic tapping indicating that he had found his sword and was now knocking it against each spindle of the staircase. They returned to the kitchen, Sherlock raised his eyebrows at Mycroft who nodded slightly in reply.

"Can we go now, please?"

Eleanor looked a little apprehensive. "Ok, put your coats on then. Scarfs, gloves and hats as well." She helped them on with their coats, wrapping them tightly in their scarfs and tugging a hat down over Sherlock's curls.

She wrote their address and telephone number on two slips of paper and tucked one into a pocket in each of their coats. "If you have any problems I want you to go into a shop and ask them to call us, we'll come as quickly as possible."

Mycroft nodded, taking hold of Sherlock's gloved hand in his own.

"You must be home by midday. Do you have your watch on?"

"Yes."

"Here's the money for the bus." She said, adding that to Mycroft's pocket. "And change for the phone box in case you need it."

"Thank you."

"I could run you into town and wait in the car for you instead."

"We'll be fine. Honestly." Mycroft patted her arm gently, copying James' action at the breakfast table.

Eleanor sighed loudly. "If you're sure."

Mycroft and Sherlock stepped off the bus. Mycroft took hold of Sherlock's hand and looked around, getting his bearings.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked.

"Boots." Mycroft replied, finally spotting the shop sign and leading them towards it.

"Can you develop this please?" Mycroft asked the man behind the counter, sliding the film towards him.

"When do you want it for?"

Mycroft looked up at the sign behind the counter. "An hour please." He counted the money over, it would take most of his pocket money to pay for it.

"Why are we getting pictures made?" Sherlock asked.

"Ssh." Mycroft took the ticket from the man and looked at his watch. "We'll be back in one hour." He told the man before taking Sherlock out of the shop.

"What are we going to do for an hour?" Sherlock whined.

"We're going to buy a photo album." Mycroft led him out of the shop and into WHSmith.

 _Sherlock_

Mycroft pushed the front door open, it rattled as it went, drawing Eleanor's attention from the kitchen.

She came through the kitchen door. "Hello boys. You're back in plenty-" She stopped, seeing Mycroft shoving a carrier bag into Sherlock's hands and standing in front of him, blocking the boy from her view. She smiled slightly. "I'll make you a warm drink, shall I?" She turned quickly and returned to the kitchen, giving them time to run upstairs and hide the present under Mycroft's bed.

 _ **Wednesday 24**_ _ **th**_ _ **December 1986**_

"Why are you putting them under the tree?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the glittering Christmas tree in the corner. He bit the end of the pencil in his hand.

"Because that's where presents go. Then in the morning we'll open them." James said.

"And Father Christmas might bring some more, if you're good." Eleanor added, bringing in a tray of hot chocolate.

Sherlock scowled.

"Don't worry, dear. Just write your letter to Father Christmas asking him to leave your stocking down here rather than the end of your bed."

Sherlock nodded, writing ' _PLEASE DON'T COME INTO MY BEDROOM PLEASE!'_ in big letters at the top of his sheet of paper.

Mycroft finished his own letter and neatly folded it in half. He accepted the cup of hot chocolate from Eleanor and sat back on the sofa, he looked up at the sparkling lights on the tree.

"Christmas trees first came to Britain in 1800 by George III's wife but it didn't become a popular tradition here until 1841." Mycroft said, reciting what he'd read earlier.

"Is that so?" James asked, smiling at the wonder that both boys had shown as the Christmas tree was put up earlier.

"Yes, but before that people would decorate their homes with evergreens."

"I've finished my letter. Can we play monopoly now please?" Sherlock asked, standing up and giving his letter to Eleanor to put on the mantelpiece beside the glass of milk and the mince pie.

Later that evening, after Mycroft and Sherlock had been tucked up in bed, Mycroft slipped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs, present in hand. He stopped, hearing noises coming from the living room. He peaked around the door and saw Eleanor and James filling the stockings that were hanging over the fireplace. His heart dropped for a second as he realised that Father Christmas was not real, berating himself for believing a child's story. He snuck back upstairs and into bed, lying there for another hour before deciding it was safe to go downstairs again.

 _ **Thursday 25**_ _ **th**_ _ **December 1986**_

Mycroft woke to someone shaking his shoulder. "My! It's morning! Wake up."

"Ssh Lockie, it's still very early." Mycroft opened one eye to look at the semi dark room. "Go back to sleep."

"But it's Christmas!"

"Go back to bed until you hear James and Eleanor getting up."

"I could go and wake them?"

"No! Don't be naughty. Father Christmas doesn't bring presents to naughty boys!"

"Don't like Father Christmas." Sherlock muttered. "But I do like Christmas presents." Sherlock climbed into bed beside his brother.

"Sherlock!"

"You said go back to bed. You didn't say which bed!"

"For goodness sake." Mycroft shuffled over to make room for Sherlock. "You won't forget to say thank you, will you?" He asked, anxiously.

"Please, thank you, please, thank you, please, thank you." Sherlock whispered.

"I mean to James and Eleanor not me."

"I know."

They lay quietly for a few minutes, Mycroft dozing.

"I think I can hear them getting up." Sherlock said, sitting up and pulling the bedding with him.

"Or that might be Father Christmas!"

Sherlock lay back down quickly causing Mycroft to smirk with satisfaction.

A few minutes later, they heard a tapping at the door. Sherlock hid under the blankets, scared it might be Father Christmas. The door opened with a creak and Sherlock shivered with terror.

"Merry Christmas boys." James called from the doorway. "Where's Sherlock?"

Mycroft lifted the blanket revealing his cowering brother. "He thought you might be Father Christmas." Mycroft said.

"No I didn't!" Sherlock sat up, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and warmth from being under the blanket.

"Come on then."

They jumped out of bed, putting their dressing gowns on before racing downstairs. They met Eleanor in the hall as she was coming from the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. "Into the living room then."

Sherlock and Mycroft opened the doors to the living room, gasping at the colourful paper, the decorations and the glittering lights.

They were overwhelmed by the presents, Sherlock quickly ripping through the paper while Mycroft carefully slid his finger under the tape. Mycroft forgot his brother for a moment, absorbed in the wonder of his own gifts. James and Eleanor watched with a satisfied smile as they exchanged presents between each other.

Finally, there was one parcel left beneath the tree. Mycroft stood up, picking the present up he gave it to James and Eleanor. "This is from Sherlock and I. Merry Christmas." He said, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you." Eleanor said as they ripped open the paper together. They opened the photo album. "Oh, boys!" Eleanor whispered.

The album contained photographs from the three months since they had met James and Eleanor Holmes. Under each photo, they had written a few lines of description about what was happening in the picture.

In silence, James and Eleanor looked through the album, gazing at the photos and reading the comments. Finally they got to the last picture, a photo of the four of them taken at the science museum.

When she looked up she had tears in her eyes. "That's wonderful. Thank you." She said pulling them into hug her.

James patted them both on the back.

James and Eleanor exchanged a look. "We have one more present for you." James said. "But you'll need to come into the kitchen for it."

In the kitchen, there was a large box wrapped with a big, red bow. The box had holes cut into it and was moving, a sound of breathing coming from within.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head at his brother's stupidity.

They untied the ribbon, Sherlock jumped backwards as the lid popped off and the box tipped over. Suddenly, Sherlock was on the floor, a small puppy licking his face.

"A puppy?" Sherlock said.

Mycroft lifted the puppy off Sherlock, giving him a chance to sit up. They patted the puppy who rolled on his back at the attention.

"What's his name?" Mycroft asked.

"He doesn't have one. You two can decide."

"Redbeard!" Sherlock shouted making the puppy jump.

"Redbeard?" James asked.

The puppy perked an ear up at the word.

"I think he likes the name." Mycroft said, scratching the puppy's ears.

"Redbeard it is then." Eleanor said, checking on how the turkey was progressing. She opened the oven and the smell wafted out. The puppy whined, running towards the smell. Mycroft caught him and pulled him back from the oven, preventing him from getting burned.

 _Sherlock_

Mycroft came in from the garden, leaving Sherlock and James playing outside with Redbeard.

"Can I help?" He asked Eleanor who was sat at the table peeling potatoes.

"Yes, you can peel the sprouts."

Mycroft sat down beside Eleanor and she showed him what to do. "Thank you." He said quietly. "For everything I mean."

"You're quite welcome dear."

 _ **Thursday 11**_ _ **th**_ _ **June 1987**_

"The adoption will soon all be finalised. Do you have any questions about it?" Lizzy asked, taking a sip of her tea. She could hear footsteps coming from the study next door and quiet talking coming through the walls. Otherwise the house was silent.

"Will we change our names?" Mycroft asked.

"You can change your surname to Holmes if you want."

"Yes." Mycroft said suddenly.

"Sherlock? Would you like your name to be Sherlock Holmes?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Well, for some children it can help them settle into their new family more easily. It might make you feel like a more solid family unit with the same name. But other children prefer to keep their original name. There's no right or wrong decision really. It's up to you."

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, taking in the expression on his brother's face. "Ok." He said. "I'd like to be Sherlock Holmes."

 _ **Wednesday 1**_ _ **st**_ _ **July 1987**_

"I don't think it's healthy for them to be so dependent on each other." Eleanor said. "Mycroft is too young for a responsibility like that."

"Yes, " James agreed, "I had hoped that he would settle in more quickly than this. Sherlock seems to be doing well but Mycroft still feels like he needs to take care of Sherlock. He needs the freedom of being a child."

"Please don't take Sherlock away from me." Mycroft said, he was stood in the doorway, all the colour had drained from his face.

"Mycroft, darling, we didn't mean it like that."

"I'll change. I'll do whatever you ask. Just don't take him away from me."

"Come and sit down, Mycroft." James said patting the sofa between them. "We're not going to split you and Sherlock up. You're brothers, we wouldn't want to separate you. We're just bit concerned about how much you worry about Sherlock."

"You don't seem very happy sweetheart. We want for you to be settled here with us but you aren't, are you?"

"I am, I like being here, I promise."

"Then what can we do to make you happier? To make you feel safer?"

"Just keep Sherlock safe, that's all I need."

"You don't need to worry about Sherlock anymore. That's what James and I are here for." Eleanor reached out and gently took his hand.

"We know you've taken care of Sherlock since he was born. And you did a very good job of it, a very good job indeed. But you don't have to take care of him anymore."

"I just … I worry about him constantly. I don't know how to stop."

"What if we found someone for you to talk to? Someone who could help you feel a bit happier. Would you try?"

"What do you mean?"

"We think it might be helpful to you to talk to someone who understands how you feel and who can help make you feel a bit better. A bit like a doctor but for feelings."

"A doctor!"

"No, like a doctor. Someone who has studied how people think and how to make them feel happier. Would you try?"

Mycroft felt conflicted. He wanted to agree to make James and Eleanor happy but he didn't want to talk to anyone.

"How about you try it once." James compromised. "If you don't like it then you don't have to go again."

"Do you promise?"

"Promise."

"Ok, I'll try it."

 _ **Tuesday 7**_ _ **th**_ _ **July 1987**_

"Mycroft?"

Mycroft had been staring at his hands, too nervous to do anything else. He looked anxiously at James when his name was called.

"It's ok, Mycroft. Just give it a go. He won't make you say anything that you don't want to. I'll be waiting out here for you."

Mycroft nodded once before looking up at the man who had called his name. He was a young man, in his early thirties Mycroft thought. He had a ginger cat and drank coffee. Mycroft's nose wrinkled at the smell of the bitter beans.

"You won't leave?" Mycroft looked back at James.

"I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Mycroft nodded again. He stood up and followed the man into the room. He glanced around the room, learning as much about the man as possible.

"Take a seat Mycroft." The man said, waving vaguely to a pair of chairs. Mycroft sat down in one of the chairs, choosing the one closest to the door. The man picked up a note pad and sat in the chair opposite Mycroft . "First, let's get the introduction out of the way. My name is Chris and I work with children who having a tough time from whatever reason. Your father, James, has asked me to spend some time with you because you're finding it difficult adjusting to your new family."

Chris looked over at Mycroft, expecting an answer but not getting one.

"Do you agree with that? Do you think you are finding it difficult adjusting?"

Mycroft shrugged.

"You have a younger brother?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"How old is Sherlock?"

"He's five."

"Before you and Sherlock were taken away from your old home did you have to look after him?"

"Yes, there was no one else to do it."

"What sort of things did you do for him?"

"I cooked for him and put him to bed … that sort of thing."

"And a lot more, I expect?"

Mycroft nodded.

"It must have been quite a shock then when you didn't have to look after Sherlock."

"I'll always look after Sherlock. He's my brother."

"That's true but in a different way now. You can look out for him without having to be responsible for him." Chris paused, watching Mycroft's expression. "Do you understand the difference?"

Mycroft didn't respond.

"What do you think the role of a parent is?"

"To cook for you and, and …"

Chris could see that Mycroft was struggling with coming up with answers to his question so he tried a different approach.

"My mum phones me every night to check that I'm ok even though I'm thirty-one. Why do you think she does that?"

"Because she's your mum."

"Yeah, even though I'm an adult she still feels responsible for me."

"I feel like that about Sherlock."

"And that's understandable because for four years you were effectively responsible for Sherlock, you kept him safe and you met all of his physical and emotional needs."

Mycroft nodded tentatively.

"But it's up to your parents to provide those things now."

"I know but that doesn't stop me worrying about Sherlock."

"Do you trust that your parents can do those things? Not just for Sherlock but for you too?"

"Yes. I'm sure they can."

"Give me an example of a situation where you've worried about Sherlock."

"He had chickenpox last month."

"What were you worried about? Specifically?"

"I read about the complications. That it can cause infections in the brain. Encephalitis and meningitis."

"So what did you do?"

"I watched Sherlock for the symptoms of those illnesses."

"Do you think that your parents were aware of the complications of chickenpox."

"Yes. I showed them the book about it."

"And do you think they were also watching Sherlock for the symptoms?"

"Yes."

"So why did you need to worry about Sherlock? If you were sure that your parents were able to watch out for the symptoms?"

"Because I have better observation skills than they do."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can read people. I can tell things about them that most people can't."

Chris was quickly having to adapt to the discussion with Mycroft, realising that he was far mature than he'd expected. "Give me an example. What can you tell about me?"

Mycroft looked over at Chris, a quick glance. He wasn't deducing anything else, he already knew everything that he needed too.

"You caught the train this morning, the carriage was busy and you had to stand for most of the journey. You play football despite a knee injury. You bought a croissant and coffee at the station this morning. You have a ginger cat and a girlfriend."

Chris raised his eyebrows. "How can you possibly know all of that?"

Mycroft hesitated. "I can smell the train station on you, and the other passengers. The scent of the other passengers is strong, from being stood closely with other people in a warm environment. You walk with a slight limp, an old injury that's almost healed but has been aggravated … probably from standing on the train. There is a photo on your desk of you and a football team, it's recent, probably from the last season. I can also smell coffee and your girlfriend's perfume. She hugged you this morning just after spraying the perfume. The bag from your croissant and the cup are in the bin by the door, I saw the logo on it when I walked in. The café chain is solely found in train stations. In an office like this the bins will be emptied daily plus the strong smell of coffee, it must have been from this morning and there are croissant crumbs down your shirt."

"That is incredible, Mycroft." He said, unconsciously brushing the crumbs from his shirt. "Do you see that all of the time?"

"Yes."

"That must be exhausting."

Mycroft looked startled. "It is."

"How do you manage all of that information?"

"I file it."

"You file it?"

"Yes. I file information away for future reference. That way I don't have to think about it but I still remember it."

"Wow. Have you told your parents about this?"

"Not exactly. They know that Sherlock and I can make deductions like that. They experienced one of Sherlock's the first day we met them. But they don't know about my filing system."

"Sherlock can do this too?"

"Yes. But he can't file it away like I can. So he just blurts out everything that he observes."

"I imagine that can be quite embarrassing."

"Yes. Very. But he doesn't mean to, he just doesn't know any better yet."

Chris looked at Mycroft, at the earnest expression on his face. "Are you happy Mycroft?"

"Happy?"

"Yes."

"I … I don't know."

"What is your favourite thing to do?"

Mycroft thought about this for a moment. "Reading." He said eventually. "I like reading."

"What do you like to read?"

"Everything. Anything."

"Does Sherlock ever interrupt you when you're reading?"

"Yes."

"What does he interrupt you with?"

"Questions. Sherlock always has questions."

"Can I set you a challenge?"

Mycroft nodded.

"During the next week, whenever Sherlock interrupts you when you are reading I want you to send him to your parents instead. Get him to ask them his questions. And I want you to carry on reading. Do you think you can do that?"

Mycroft thought. "Yes."

 _ **Thursday 9**_ _ **th**_ _ **July 1987**_

"Come in boys, sit down." Eleanor said, seeing the two of them stood in the doorway.

"We wanted to talk about this weekend." James said as they sat down. "There is an exhibition on in London about pirates. We thought that Sherlock and I could go to it."

Sherlock jumped up from his seat. "Really?"

"Really." James said, smiling at the exited boy.

"Mycroft, there's a lecture on at Oxford University this weekend – 'The Use of Calculus for Economics'. I thought we could attend the lecture and visit my old college. Oxford is a wonderful place to spend the weekend. What do you think?"

Mycroft frowned, looking over at Sherlock.

"You can speak on the telephone each evening that you are apart." James said, seeing the apprehension on Mycroft's face.

Mycroft nodded. "I'd like to go to the lecture."

"Ok," James said, "we'll all leave tomorrow morning and have the whole weekend away."

Later that evening, James knocked quietly on the bedroom door as Mycroft was getting into bed.

"Come in." Mycroft called.

"All ready for bed?" James whispered, mindful that Sherlock was already asleep, pirate sword tightly in his grip.

Mycroft nodded, pulling the blanket over him.

James kissed the top of Mycroft's head. "Goodnight Mycroft." He said before turning to leave the room.

"James?" Mycroft called softly.

"Yes?"

"You'll take care of Sherlock, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

"Don't let him out of your sight."

"I won't. I promise that Sherlock will be ok. I know that I can't stop you worrying about him but I promise that I'll take good care of him."

"I know you will."

James smiled at the confidence in Mycroft's voice.

 _ **Wednesday 5**_ _ **th**_ _ **May 1993**_

Mycroft heard the crying from outside the living room. He'd been studying in his bedroom all day and hadn't spoken to anyone since breakfast, he'd been coming down to ask what was for dinner when he heard Sherlock's sobs.

"Sherlock? What on Earth is wrong?" He asked stepping into the room.

Sherlock sobbed loudly in Eleanor's arms. "Redbeard was having some difficulty breathing this morning so we took him to the vet. We had to have the poor thing put to sleep." She replied, patting Sherlock's back.

"Everyone dies, Sherlock, even Redbeard." He was attempting to sound consoling but he failed.

Sherlock pushed away from his mother, standing suddenly and glaring up at his brother. "How can you be like that? So bloody cold." He raged.

"Language young man." Eleanor said, standing between her sons.

"Caring is not an advantage. I told you not to get so attached to the dog. Now it's just caused you hurt."

Sherlock launched himself at Mycroft, taking him by surprise and pushing him back into the wall behind. He got one punch in before James was suddenly there and pulling him off.

"You cold bastard! I hate you!" He screamed from his mother's arms.

"Mycroft? Are you ok?" James asked as Mycroft tentatively touched his split lip.

Mycroft nodded, flinching at his brothers anger.

"Come with me." James guided Mycroft out of the room and into the kitchen. He took some ice from the freezer and wrapped half in a tea towel. "Put that on your lip."

James took the rest of the ice into the living room for Sherlock's knuckles, speaking quietly to his wife before returning to the kitchen. Mycroft was slumped at the kitchen table, the ice melting in his hand.

"That's not going to do any good in there." James said, gently guiding Mycroft's hand up to his lip.

"You shouldn't have said that to Sherlock. You know he adored Redbeard, what possessed you to say it?"

"He has to learn what life is like."

"He's just a child."

"You protect him too much. When I was his age I-"

"Mycroft." James interrupted. "What happened to you at eleven was wrong. It shouldn't have happened. You had to grow up very quickly because you'd been caring for Sherlock, and that was wrong. But Sherlock still deserves to enjoy the childhood that you should have had as well. He is still just a child. And a child who has just lost his dog."

Mycroft sighed, shrugging wearily.

"I know you're under a lot pressure with your exams coming up but that is no excuse. You should have known better."

James pulled the ice away from Mycroft's lip to inspect the damage. "Once you've both calmed down you need to apologise to him. Is that clear?"

Mycroft nodded.

In the living room Eleanor was having a similar conversation with Sherlock. "Violence never solves anything." She said firmly, her arms still tightly around her sobbing son. "Surely you saw more than enough of that when you two were younger."

Sherlock jumped up, pulling away from her. The ice fell to the floor. "Do you think I'm like him?"

Eleanor didn't have to ask who he was referring to. "No Sherlock, of course you're not."

"He would shout at Mycroft and then punch him. Exactly like I just did."

"But the difference is that he picked on someone smaller than him, someone who couldn't defend himself. And he did it repeatedly." She said gently. Neither of the boys had ever directly acknowledged the violence before. Eleanor knew she needed to tread carefully.

"I don't want to be like him."

"You won't Sherlock. Our choices define us. You've just chosen to never be like him and therefore you can never be like him."

"Really?"

"Yes. But you must promise me that you will never behave like that again. And you must promise yourself."

"I promise."

"Come here, darling." She held her arms out to him, wrapping them tightly around his shoulders. "Unfortunately death has a tendency to bring out the very worst behaviour in us. And you have had a dreadfully upsetting day." She kissed his head. "Once you've both calmed down, you need to apologise to Mycroft."

"I will."

"Good boy."

 _ **Friday 17**_ _ **th**_ _ **September 1993**_

"You're going then?" Sherlock said, not looking at Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded, sitting down beside Sherlock on the bed.

"Why?"

"To study. You'll understand when you're older."

"You said you'd never leave me."

"I'm not leaving you, Lockie. I'm just going away for a few years. I'll be back during the holidays, and you can visit me."

"But I'll be all alone."

"No you won't. Mummy and Daddy will be here with you."

"They're not the same as you. I can't talk to them like I can with you. They don't understand."

"I know. That's why I've got you this." Mycroft handed over a tissue wrapped parcel.

Sherlock held it in his hand, taking in the shape and the surprising heaviness. He unwrapped it, revealing a skull. "Is it-"

"Real? Yes. It took all my savings … I still didn't have enough even then … Mummy and Daddy lent me the rest."

"It's, it's magnificent." Sherlock stroked a finger over the smooth surface, examining every flaw, every imperfection. "Thank you."

"I'll be back at Christmas. And we can write. I'll write to you every week, I promise."

Sherlock gazed down at the skull.

"You will be ok, won't you Lock?"

Sherlock looked up from the skull, holding it tightly in his hands. He nodded.

Mycroft handed Sherlock a piece of paper, covered in his elegant scrawl.

"What's this?"

"My address and the telephone number of the halls of residence. If you ever need me, call. I will drop everything, I promise."

 _ **Monday 20**_ _ **th**_ _ **September 1993**_

"Sherlock, dear, don't mope." Eleanor said, watching her youngest son sit down in the chair and slump against the kitchen table.

"I'm bored!"

"I know. And you're missing Mycroft."

"No I'm not." He said petulantly.

"Oh. OK." She turned back to the cooker.

"I'm not!"

"I believe you, dear." She continued stirring the contents of the sauce pan, smiling with her back to Sherlock.

"I don't need Mycroft."

"Of course you don't."

"You are so infuriating!" Sherlock stood up and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Eleanor sighed loudly at the dramatics. A few minutes later, she heard jagged, disconnected noises coming from Sherlock's violin.

James came in from the garden. "What's wrong with Sherlock?" He asked, wincing at the sounds.

"He's missing Mycroft."

 _ **Saturday 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **December 1993**_

"Sherlock dear, waiting there isn't going to get him home any quicker." Eleanor said, catching her youngest son sitting on the stairs again. He was staring intently at the front door as though he could make it open through sheer willpower alone. "Why don't you go and find something productive to do."

"Why aren't they home yet?"

"Probably traffic darling. Why don't you play your violin for me."

Sherlock shook his head and continued staring at the door, listening out for the sound of tyres on gravel.

Eleanor sighed, turning away and going into the kitchen.

When he finally heard a car pulling up, Sherlock ran down the stairs. He flung the door open and was stood beside the car before it had even had time to stop.

"My!"

Mycroft pushed the car door open. "Hello Brother-Mine."

Sherlock threw himself at his brother, even though, at twelve, he was far too old for such behaviour.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Sherlock, resting his chin on the boy's head. "You're pleased to see me then, Lock?"

"I've missed you terribly, My."

"As have I, little brother, as have I."

 _ **Sunday 11**_ _ **th**_ _ **May 1997**_

"Did they call you?" Sherlock said, with his back to the door.

"Yes. Mummy's worried." Mycroft stepped into the room, taking in the experiments and books strewn across the room, smiling slightly at the sight of the skull on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock sighed loudly, turning to face his brother. "I want to see him."

"No." Mycroft shook his head firmly. "You're not seeing him."

"That's not your decision to make. I'm not forcing you to see him. But I want to."

"Why Sherlock? Why now?"

"He's my father-"

"But it was me who took care of you. Not him. Please, Sherlock, please don't see him." Mycroft took a deep breath, not liking how he sounded. He stood up straighter, changing his posture and trying to embody the powerful man that he was becoming.

Sherlock frowned at Mycroft. "Why are you so against this?"

"Do you not remember the things he did to us?" Mycroft said, sounding calmer than he felt.

"I know he wasn't nice but he's still my-"

"Nice?" Mycroft exploded. "He put me in hospital. He fractured my skull." He grabbed the skull from Sherlock's desk, waving it at his brother to emphasize his point.

"I still want to see him. Just once." Sherlock said quietly, taking the skull carefully from Mycroft's hands. "It won't change anything. But I want to see him."

Mycroft stood up to his full height, towering above Sherlock. "I forbid you from seeing him."

"You can't stop me."

"You just watch me."

 _ **Thursday 12**_ _ **th**_ _ **June 1997**_

"That was wonderful, Sherlock," James said when Sherlock finished the piece with a flourish. "Come and sit beside me."

Sherlock sat down beside his father. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, you've done nothing."

"What haven't I done?"

"Also nothing." James laughed. "No, Jake has been on the phone. Sherlock, social services have decided that it's best if you don't see your biological father, not at the moment."

"This is Mycroft."

"I don't think this has anything to do with Mycroft."

"Yes, it does! This has him written all over it."

"Sherlock, I don't think Mycroft's quite that powerful, not yet anyway."

Sherlock flung his violin down on the sofa and stomped away.

 _ **Saturday 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **June 1997**_

"Sherlock?" Mycroft appeared in his bedroom door.

"Get out!"

"Sherlock, please-"

"I will never forgive you for this."

"Please, Sherlock, listen to me."

"No, get out of my bedroom. I never want to see you again. You're no brother of mine."

Mycroft felt his heart break. "I'm sorry Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up from where he had been lounging on his bed. He strode across the room and slammed the door shut, forcing his brother to step backwards or be hit by the door.

In a fury he turned to face his bedroom. He strode across the room and picked up a mug from the desk, turning he tossed it at the door. It shattered on impact, cold tea running down the wooden panels.

A lamp was the next to go, the cord pulled from the wall and then thrown at the door. The bulb smashed into a thousand tiny shards of glass.

He put his hand back on his desk and picked up the next available object. His hand settled around cool, smooth surfaces. His skull. He raised it and took aim but something stopped him. He looked at the skull. He couldn't do it. He placed it back down on the desk, safely.

 _ **Saturday 22**_ _ **nd**_ _ **November 2014**_

"And that's why you fell out?"

"Yes."

"But … do you understand why he didn't want you to see your father?"

"Because he is a control freak."

"No, Sherlock. He was trying to protect you."

Sherlock looked slightly startled. "Oh."

"Are you ok?"

Sherlock stood, he grabbed his coat and scarf from the back of a chair.

"Sherlock?"

"I need to go out."

"Sherlock!" John hesitated for a few moments before also leaving the flat and going home to Mary.

 _Sherlock_

"What do you want Sherlock?" Mycroft didn't need to turn around in his chair to know that his brother was stood in the doorway. Let in by his traitorous housekeeper, no doubt.

Mycroft heard Sherlock moving towards his chair. "Well?" He asked, turning around. He was startled to see his brother's face pale and drawn. "Sherlock?" Concerned now.

Sherlock walked slowly across the room and sat down in the chair opposite.

"You've told John everything." A statement of fact.

Sherlock nodded.

After so many years of keeping secrets. "Why on Earth would you do that, brother-mine?"

Silence. Sherlock's face was impossible to read.

"Sherlock?"

"John thinks that you were trying to protect me."

"All I have ever done is try to protect you. Is that such a surprise?"

"He thinks that you stopped me seeing my biological father to protect me."

"And?"

"Is that true?"

Mycroft looked away.

"Mycroft? Were you trying to protect me?"

"That was part of the reason."

"And the rest of the reason?"

Mycroft looked extremely uncomfortable. "I took care of you. I cooked for you, I comforted you when you had nightmares, I taught you to read." He paused to reign in his emotions. "Why did you need him?"

"I didn't need him. I wanted to tell him that I didn't need him."

Mycroft's heart broke. "I'm sorry. I took that opportunity away from you."

"Do you know where he is?"

Mycroft nodded. "I can give you the address."

Sherlock sat silently for a moment. "I don't want it."

Mycroft felt a wave of relief. "Do you want to know about him?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

"No."

"What about her? Did she ever come for us?"

Mycroft hesitated realising that Sherlock still had some positive allusions about their mother remaining. "No."

"I always thought she might have."

"I'm sorry." Mycroft paused, a deep breath. "Sherlock, how much do you remember from before we were taken away?"

It's vague. I remember feelings more than specific events."

"She had been gone for a while."

"Really?"

"Yes, a few months, I think."

"I didn't know."

"You were very young."

Sherlock looked shocked, he stood up and paced across the room, his back to Mycroft."Was it my fault?"

"Was what your fault?"

"We were hiding in the cupboard. You kept telling me to be quiet but I wasn't and then he found us."

"Sherlock? Sherlock?" His brother reluctantly turned to face him. "Is that what you thought? All this time?"

Sherlock's head twitched slightly. It might have been a nod. It might not.

"No, Sherlock, it was not your fault." Mycroft looked stunned. "He knew exactly where we were. I was foolish to think we could hide from him. He knew we were there. He was just taunting us by dragging it out."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, I had no idea that you thought that. No idea."

Sherlock nodded.

"It's my biggest regret."

"What is?"

"Stopping you from seeing him. And yet, if I had to make the decision again, I would do exactly the same." Mycroft paused for a moment, gazing at Sherlock. "Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Brother-Mine." Sherlock stood, laying a hand on Mycroft's shoulder before leaving.


	2. The Parenting Abstract

Mycroft sighed loudly. "Please, Sherlock, take the case." He brushed dust from the arm of the chair distastefully.

"No, boring." Sherlock replied without looking up from his microscope.

"John, talk some sense into him, please?"

John looked up from his paper. "Sherlock, you were complaining to Mary about being bored just this morning, so take the damn case."

"Bored? I'm not bored. I'm studying the breakdown of tissue cells when exposed to different acids."

"And that is a good use of your time, is it, brother mine?"

"Yes. It would be very useful if someone killed you and tried to dissolve your body in acid."

"If you could perhaps tone down the look of excitement on your face at the prospect of me being murdered."

"I _am_ toning it down."

"Hmm."

There was a tentative knock at the door.

"John." Sherlock waved his hand towards the door, continuing to stare down his microscope.

John sighed. "I'll get it, shall I?"

Mycroft lifted the teacup from the table and wiped around the rim with his handkerchief before taking a sip.

"Hello. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes." The voice at the door said to John.

"Come in."

Mycroft stood up suddenly at the sound of a woman voice, putting his cup down with a clatter.

"You have sixty seconds to tell me why you are here. Don't be boring." Sherlock said from his microscope.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft asked harshly.

"Mycroft?" The woman said, looking startled. "I didn't know that you'd be here."

"Why is it such a surprise? Me being in my brother's home."

Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope, he looked between his brother and the woman at the door. "Who are you?"

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's stupidity.

"I'm your mum."

"No." Sherlock looked back down at his microscope.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began gently.

"What's going on?" John looked confused.

"John, I would like to introduce you to Jennifer Evans. Our biological mother."

"No." Sherlock repeated, still at the microscope. "Egg donor would be a more appropriate description."

"Sherlock?" Mycroft looked uncomfortable.

"What? I'm very busy so you," he pointed at Mycroft, "go back to running the country, I will consider your case. You," he pointed next to John, "go home to your wife and daughter. And you," he waved his hand dismissively at their biological mother, "can do what you like, as long as it isn't here."

"Please, Sherlock, listen-"

"What could you possibly have to say that he would want to listen to." Mycroft asked, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

She ignored Mycroft and instead turned back to Sherlock. "Sherlock, please, you're my son."

Mycroft bristled at the rejection, flushing in embarrassment at the sudden hurt he felt.

Sherlock stood up from the microscope, looking at the woman properly for the first time. He waved to Mycroft. "As is he."

"Could we talk on our own?"

"Anything you want to say to me can be said in front my brother."

"I've got a case for you, my husband is missing."

Mycroft turned away, taking his phone from his pocket and typing quickly.

"Go to the police."

"I have, they sent me away. They think he's just left me."

"Do you honestly think, for one second, that I would consider taking _your_ case?" Sherlock said coolly.

"But I'm your mum."

"No." Rang out across the room again but it was Mycroft this time. "Our mother is Ella Holmes."

"I never gave my permission for your adoption."

"You had your parental rights removed. Your permission was unnecessary." Mycroft fiddled with his phone while speaking.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"You left us." Sherlock muttered angrily.

"And before then, you neglected us. You failed to send us to school, you failed to provide food for us and you failed to protect us. You failed to be a parent." Mycroft's phone beeped and he used the opportunity to calm down while looking at his phone. "He is staying at the Ibis Hotel, Birmingham Airport. With a Sonia Brown."

"What?"

"Your husband, that's where he is currently residing."

"How did you-?"

"You have the answer to your question. Go." Sherlock said, turning his back on her.

Mycroft also turned his back, gazing calmly out of the window.

"I think you should leave." John said, taking her by the arm and leading her back through the door. He shut it behind her and looked back to the brothers. "Are you two ok?"

"Would you mind leaving us please John?" Sherlock said quietly.

"Ok, call me if you need anything." John let himself out of the flat, shutting the door softly behind him.

"My?"

"You haven't called me that in a long time."

"I know."

"She always liked you more than me. Everyone did."

"I was under the impression that she didn't like either of us."

"Well, she disliked me more than you."

"More fool her."

Mycroft turned around, smiling slightly. "It doesn't feel right, you being nice to me."

"You're my big brother, I'm not supposed to be nice to you." Sherlock sat down in his chair, looking over at Mycroft

"No, quite right too."

"How did you find out where he was so quickly?"

"How do you think?" He sat down in John's chair.

"Anthea? Or whatever he name is."

"Obviously!" Mycroft said, a perfect impression of his brother.

"That's mine."

"Who do you think you learned it from?"

They sat silently for a moment, both gazing into space.

Sherlock looked up. "Are you upset?"

"Me? The Ice Man?"

"I know you better than that."

"I know."


	3. The Theory Of Relatives

"Just bruises – no broken bones." The doctor put his stethoscope back in his bag while Mycroft struggled back into his shirt, his shaking fingers stopping him from doing the buttons up as swiftly as usual.

"You need to take it easy for the next few weeks. I'll give your assistant a prescription for pain relief."

Mycroft nodded wordlessly, still struggling with his buttons. He was barely aware of the doctor leaving the room and Anthea returning. He only became aware of her presence when his hands were gently pushed away and she quickly did the buttons on his shirt back up.

She carefully rolled up his tie and placed it in his jacket pocket, before picking up the jacket and waistcoat and laying them over her arm. "The car is outside, Sir."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm taking you home."

Mycroft shook his head.

"You need rest, Sir. I'll take you home and then pick up your prescription."

He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Greg is there."

"I don't think you can prevent him from finding out about this, Sir, not unless you blindfold him for the next two weeks until the bruises go down."

Mycroft remained silent.

"He's a detective, Sir, I think he might realise that something's wrong." She held out her hand to him to help him up from the seat.

He smiled slightly, accepting her help. "I know."

"I could phone him and warn him if that would help." She said as she guided him to the door.

"He'd only worry." He replied, ignoring the concerned looks that were coming from his staff. He must have looked worse coming in but his memory of it was hazy.

The journey was slow, London traffic clogging up the streets and making it difficult for the black sedan to move through. Mycroft leaned back against the head rest and closed his eyes. He could hear Anthea typing away of her phone.

"I've rearranged your meetings for the rest of the week." She said quietly.

"Thank you." He didn't open his eyes.

"We're here, Sir."

He opened his eyes, he hadn't noticed that the car had stopped. He peered blearily through the window, recognising the building that they were parked in front of.

"Should I call the doctor back?"

"No." He lifted his shaking hand to the door handle.

"Wait-" Anthea got out of the car and opened his door, she helped him from the car and typed the code into the front door of the building. She led him towards the lift. He pulled back when he realised what they were waiting for. "Sir, you're not going to be able to walk up the stairs."

He sighed and allowed her to push him into the lift before he could change his mind. She took his keys out of his jacket pocket and let them into the flat closing the door behind them.

"Myc? If that you?" A voice called from within the flat. There was a clatter in the kitchen and footsteps down the hall. "What are you doing home in the middle of the day? Has the country fallen?" Greg appeared in the entrance hall. "Shit! What the hell happened?"

"National security." Mycroft muttered, not looking at his partner.

"No, don't pull that crap-"

"He really needs to rest, Detective Inspector." Anthea said diplomatically.

Greg looked at her angrily for a second and then looked back at Mycroft. "You should be in hospital."

"He's seen a doctor, there's nothing broken. I have a prescription for pain killers for him, I'll go and collect it now." She placed Mycroft's keys down on the hall stand and hung his jacket and waistcoat up on the coat stand.

"They need to be hung properly." Mycroft started before receiving dirty looks from Lestrade and Anthea.

"I'll do it later." Greg said with a sigh, putting his arm around Mycroft's waist.

"I'll be back with the prescription. Is there anything else you require, Sir?"

"Can you send the Slater report to the PM, it's on my desk." Mycroft said, leaning against Lestrade.

"That's not quite what I meant but yes." Anthea let herself out through the door and shut it behind her.

"Let's get you into bed." Lestrade murmured. "I normally sound more excited when I say that."

Mycroft snorted painfully. "Don't make me laugh."

"Sorry." Lestrade sat him down on the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Jesus, Myc." He pulled the shirt over Mycroft's shoulders revealing the widespread bruising.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"Good, otherwise you should be dead by now."

"Please-"

"Sorry. We'll talk about this later."

Mycroft sighed loudly and stood while Lestrade helped remove his trousers. He pulled back the duvet and helped Mycroft to lie down.

"I'll get you a glass of water." He returned a few minutes later and put the glass down on the bedside table.

"Lay beside me?"

Lestrade looked a little surprised by the request, it wasn't something he expected from Mycroft. Shrugging it off, he lay down beside Mycroft. "Does this happen often?"

"Not anymore."

"Not anymore?"

"Not since I gave up _leg_ work."

"Good." He paused. "Did it used to happen often?"

"More often than I would have like."

"Is that why you stopped working in the field?"

"Partly, and partly because I wanted to be closer to home."

"Closer to home or closer to Sherlock?"

"Both." Mycroft gave a small smile, wincing when it jostled his rapidly bruising cheek.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

"Can you give me some clue as to what happened?"

"Not without worrying you more than I believe necessary."

"Now I'm worried."

"The assailant will not be bothering me again."

"Or anyone else?"

"Or anyone else." Mycroft agreed.

"Shit."

"It was him or me."

"Then I'm glad he's dead."

Mycroft reached over for his hand and squeezed it gently. "Don't worry, I have excellent security."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"I'm not in any more danger than you are at work."

"OK."

They lay quietly for a few minutes before Lestrade realised that Mycroft was dozing. He heard a quiet knock on the door and got up to answer it without disturbing his partner.

"One tablet every four hours." Anthea said, handing a paper bag to him. "The doctor also included a mild sedative."

"A sedative?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes might need it but he won't take it willingly. He's quite suggestable though, when he's taking pain relief. The instructions are all on the packets."

"Why will he need a sedative?"

She frowned, unsure what to say.

"Anthea? What aren't you telling me?"

"That's not for me to say, Detective Inspector. Call me if you have any questions or if he deteriorates. I'll manage his workload until he's recovered."

"Thanks."

"Should I inform Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?" Greg was starting to become confused with this conversation, feeling that he was missing something.

"Yes, shall I phone him?"

"Would Mycroft want you to?"

"No. But Sherlock would want to know."

"I wouldn't have thought Sherlock would've been that concerned. He's just bruised, isn't he? Is this more serious than he's led me to believe?"

"He's just bruised but under the circumstances-"

"I'm starting to think that we're not having the same conversation here."

"I'll inform Sherlock. He'll probably want to see Mr Holmes."

"What? Sherlock never wants to see Mycroft."

"He will now. He might be a bit tense. If he doesn't bring Doctor Watson with him then you may want to call him."

"OK."

"And watch Mr Holmes carefully for any signs of a head injury. The doctor thinks he's just concussed but watch him." Anthea looked torn. "I could stay if you want."

Lestrade shook his head. "No, it's fine."

"You'll call if you need me?"

Lestrade closed the door behind her, looking confused. He went back to the bedroom. "Myc?"

Mycroft opened an eye and looked at Greg with confusion.

"I have your prescription. You need take a pain killer, then you can rest." He helped Mycroft sit up slightly and handed him the tablet. Mycroft took the water glass from him with shaking hands and swallowed the medication down.

"Thank you." He dropped back down on the pillows and sighed.

"Anthea is calling Sherlock."

"Oh, God. He's going to come here and be horrendous."

"Why? Normally he heads in the opposite direction when he sees you."

"Hmmm. Will you lay down with me again."

"Of course." He went around to the other side of the bed and got under the duvet. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Mycroft's head before lying there and contemplating what Anthea had said.

He must have fallen asleep because suddenly it was dark and there was a banging at the door. He extracted himself from the tangled bedding and opened the door to an irate looking Sherlock.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded.

"Ssh, he's asleep." Greg stood back as Sherlock pushed through the door. "Hi John."

"Er?" John looked at Lestrade with confusion on his face.

Greg and John followed Sherlock back down the hall and into the master bedroom. Sherlock stopped when he saw his brother covered in bruises.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged John's concern away, focusing on his brother. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft stirred in the bed but didn't wake.

"John, check him for a head injury."

"A doctor has already seen him, he thinks it's just concussion." Greg said.

Sherlock ignored Lestrade. "He had a skull fracture when he was eleven."

"What?"

"He hasn't told you then? John, check him please."

John nodded, taking a torch out. "Mycroft? Open your eyes?"

Mycroft looked dozily up at John. "Doctor Watson?"

"It's ok. I'm just checking you over. Any nausea? Blurred vision?"

"Mmm." Mycroft murmured, going back to sleep.

John examined his skull gently. "I don't think there is a fracture. He'd need to go to hospital for a scan to be certain but I don't think it's necessary. I'm concerned about his level of consciousness though. He doesn't seem very aware."

Sherlock picked up the tablet packet from the bedside table. "Has he taken any of these?" He asked Lestrade.

"Yes, one. Why?"

"That's why he's so drowsy. Not the head injury." Sherlock said, handing the packet over to John. "Pain relief knocks him out."

"Well, he needs someone to watch him but all he can do now is rest."

"Can you give us a minute?" Sherlock asked them. John and Greg left the room. "My? Mycroft?"

"What is it, Lock?" Mycroft frowned, refusing to open his eyes.

"You need to tell him."

"Who?"

"Lestrade. You need to tell him the truth. He knows that something is wrong."

Mycroft shook his head painfully. "No. Don't want him to know."

"Why?"

"Please, don't argue."

Uncharacteristically, Sherlock backed down immediately. "Ok. Shall I stay?"

"There's no need."

"Can I stay?"

"Who are you and what've you done with my brother?"

"Shut up."

"At least you haven't got a pirate sword in your hand this time."

"I have one at Baker Street, a proper one, I could send John for it."

"No thank you, Brother-Mine. I've been hit over the head with a pirate sword more than enough times already."

"I've never hit you with a sword."

"You remember when you came to visit me in hospital after?"

"Yes."

"And you got into the bed with me."

"Don't remind me." Sherlock looked irritated.

"You hit me with your sword then. You tried to hug me but you hit me over the head, which was exactly what I needed."

"That never happened."

"I assure you, it did."

"You must be really concussed to think that."

"Believe that if you want." Mycroft opened an eye and took a long look at his brother. "Don't worry, Sherlock. I'll be fine."

"I'm not worried."

"Right. "

"I'll let Gareth back in now."

"Greg." Mycroft corrected.

"Greg."

"And you may want to explain his presence to Doctor Watson."

"What? Oh." Sherlock opened the door and let Lestrade back into the room. "I'm staying." He stated.

"Really?" Lestrade moved back over to the bed. "Myc?"

"I'm fine."

John pulled Sherlock aside. "Er?"

"My brother and Lestrade are in a relationship, isn't that obvious?"

"OK."

"Yes, I know it's OK."

"Can I get back to my wife and daughter now? It's almost bath time and it's my turn."

"Yes." Sherlock said, standing beside the window.

John let himself out after giving the odd group of men one more bemused look.

"You're really staying?" Greg asked after Mycroft had fallen asleep again.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"Sherlock, this is weird behaviour for you. You've never shown this much concern for him before."

"This is different."

"Why? John thinks he's going to be fine. And this seems to be an occupational hazard for him."

"I know."

"Then why are you suddenly so concerned for him?"

"He's my brother." Sherlock replied simply.

Greg nodded, still looking a little confused. "Should you call your parents?"

"No, I'll let them know in a few days. If I call them now they'll be on the first train to London and I don't think Mycroft would appreciate that."

"But he doesn't mind you staying."

"Trust me, I'm far easier to put up with than my mother."

"I've met your mother, she's lovely."

"But you've never met her when her child was injured. You don't want her here."

"I'll make up the spare bed for you. Can you stay with him until I get back."

"Yes."

Lestrade got up to leave the room.

"Has he been prescribed a sedative?"

"Yes. Anthea said that he probably wouldn't want it."

"You may need to trick him into thinking it is a pain killer. He'd notice normally but it should slip past him when he's concussed and high on pain relief."

"Why will he need a sedative? He doesn't seem too upset by what happened."

"He doesn't, does he?"

"Will you just spit it out. You and Anthea have both been dancing around something with this bloody sedative. If there's something that I should know then just tell me."

Sherlock sighed. "You'll know soon enough. But it's not for me to say."

"Right, I'll go and make up the bed. I'll see if I can find something for you to sleep in."

"No need, if I know my brother as well as I think I do then there will be clothes to fit me in there."

Sherlock watched as Mycroft slept peacefully while Lestrade was out of the room.

"All ready for you. Do you want something to eat?"

"No. I'll leave you now. Call me if he wakes."

"OK."

 _Sherlock_

It was still the early hours of the morning when Greg was woken by the sound of shouting beside him. He switched the lamp on immediately and saw Mycroft sitting bolt upright in bed, staring wide eyed at the wall opposite. "Myc? You're just having a nightmare. You're alright." He placed a hand gently on Mycroft shoulder.

"No!" Mycroft flinched at the contact, pushing him away and backing into the wall.

The door opened and Sherlock was beside his brother at once. He pulled Lestrade out of the way and sat down on his side of the bed. "My? It's Sherlock. You're safe."

"Lock?" Mycroft held a hand out to Sherlock, blindly searching for his brother.

"That's right. You're safe. You have a head injury but you are safe. Look at me, Mycroft."

Mycroft eventually turned to face Sherlock, recognition appeared in his eyes. "Sherlock? Are you OK? Where am I? Where is he?"

"I'm fine. We're both fine. You're at home. At your flat in London. And he isn't here. He can't hurt you."

"Sherlock?" He repeated, looking around the room in confusion.

"That's right, keep looking at me. You were injured at work today. Your security dealt with it but you're concussed and your ribs are bruised. That's why you're in pain."

Mycroft nodded, accepting the truth that Sherlock was telling him.

Sherlock took two tablets from the packets, a pain killer and a sedative. "I need you to take these, they're just pain killers."

Mycroft swallowed the tablets down without questioning them.

"Lie back down. I'll sit beside you until you fall asleep." It took ten minutes before Sherlock was convinced that Mycroft was deeply asleep. He stood up from the bed and pulled the duvet up over his brother's shoulders.

"Sherlock? What the hell was that?"

"That was why he needs the sedative. I doubt he'll remember any of this in the morning, he never does."

"I don't understand-"

"No surprises there."

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft needs to tell you this. He wouldn't want me to. He might talk tomorrow. His tongue is always a bit loser when he's dosed up on pain killers. He should sleep for the rest of the night without any problems."

"OK."

Sherlock stood and left the room, leaving Lestrade thoroughly confused.

 _Sherlock_

Lestrade found Sherlock in the kitchen early the next morning finishing a cup of tea. "There's more in the pot."

"It's just tea? You've not put anything poisonous in it, have you?"

"Of course not. There's nothing poisonous here." He picked his phone up from table. "Molly called, she has some body parts for me. There's an unidentified microbe growing on them that may have come from the sewer where the body was found."

"OK, more information than I needed this early in the morning but OK."

Sherlock stopped. "I can stay, the mould can wait."

"We'll be OK."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll phone you if we have any problems."

Sherlock nodded. "Convince him to talk to you. He needs to." Sherlock left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Greg looked questioningly at the tea in the pot. He decided against risking it and emptied the remains of the tea down the sink before brewing a fresh pot. He placed the tea pot, cups and the milk jug on a tray and carried it into their bedroom.

Mycroft woke up to the smell of tea.

"Do you want a cup?"

"Mmm."

Lestrade poured a cup and placed it within Mycroft's reach. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." Mycroft replied, taking a mouthful of tea. "Nothing a good cup of tea won't fix."

"You woke up during the night." Lestrade said casually, sitting back down with his own cup.

Mycroft blushed and looked down at his cup. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologise for." Greg caught Mycroft's eye. "Nothing. You know why I'm bringing it up?"

"Yes. I suppose Sherlock drugged me after."

"Yeah but only with what the doctor had prescribed."

"Good. He once slipped me something he made himself, he put it in my tea." Mycroft looked down at the cup in his hand. "He didn't make this, did he?"

"No. I threw out what he made and made fresh. He said he hadn't poisoned it but I didn't want to risk it."

"Probably for the best. I still have no memory of the two weeks after he drugged me. God knows what he gave me."

"I won't let him poison you. I promise."

Mycroft smiled and took another sip. "I suppose you have questions."

"A few."

"I'm sorry, I should have told you before but Sherlock and I, well, our parents are not our biological parents."

"I'd worked that out for myself."

"Really? I'll let Sherlock know, he'll be impressed."

"Your mother showed me photos of you two when you were children. It seemed odd that there were none before you were about ten."

"Eleven but you are quite correct. Sherlock and I were adopted. Until then we were brought up, and I use the term loosely, by our mother and Sherlock's father. We were neglected. No one knew that we existed. They didn't send us to school or look after us, there was never any food or heating. They were usually drunk. I cared for Sherlock. His father hated me. He wasn't particularly fond of Sherlock either but he hated me and when he had been drinking he used to hit me."

"That's how you fractured your skull."

"Yes. He knocked me unconscious and then left. The police found him in a pub days later. Sherlock saved my life. He was only four and he'd never been out of our flat before but he let himself out and knocked on doors until a lady answered, she followed Sherlock back to our flat and called an ambulance. Sherlock and I were taken away and eventually adopted."

"Jesus, I can see why Sherlock was so worried about you last night. God, four? He must have been terrified."

"He was. And we'd never been separated before, he was alone with strangers for two weeks before I was released from hospital."

"Shit."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I've never told anyone before. Sherlock has told Doctor Watson but no one else knows."

"You should have told me or at least prepared me for last night."

"Sherlock told me to but I hate talking about it."

"Why?"

Mycroft considered it. "I suppose I feel guilty acknowledging that our parents aren't our real parents."

"But they are your real parents, they might not be biologically but they are your real parents."

Mycroft looked at his hands. "And I didn't want you to pity me."

Greg reached over and took Mycroft's hands in his own. "I wouldn't have pitied you. But I would have been able to support you better last night."

"I don't remember what happened last night. I never do. And Sherlock seems to be the only person who can calm me."

"Does it happen often?"

"Only when I'm injured like that. I suppose you'd call it post-traumatic stress disorder but it's never been diagnosed. I assume the pain and the confusion makes me think that I'm back there."

"I wish you'd told me."

"Please, Greg, don't let it change how you think of me."

"It doesn't but it does remind me how strong you are."

"Can you forgive me for not telling you?"

Greg placed a hand gently on Mycroft's face. "There's nothing to forgive. I wish you'd told me but I would never ask you to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. If there are things that you want to tell me I will listen but I'll never force you to tell me anything that you don't want to. I accepted long ago that you have to keep secrets from me, with your job and everything. I'm OK with that but there is nothing that you can tell me that will stop me loving you."

"You're too good for me."

"Never."

They lay quietly together for a while until Greg decided that it was time for Mycroft to take another tablet.

"This is just pain relief, isn't it?"

Lestrade showed him the packet before helping him to the bathroom and then into the living room to sit down. He made them soup for lunch and they ate it together on the sofa with the TV quietly on in the background.

"You have more questions." Mycroft said, switching the TV off.

"Is it just an act, the way Sherlock normally behaves around you?"

"No. Sherlock was angry with me for a long time, we've only recently reconciled."

"What happened?"

"I did something when he was a teenager. I thought I was protecting him but he couldn't forgive me for it."

"What did you do?"

"I stopped him from seeing his father. I was wrong. We didn't speak for years. By the time he was talking to me again, it was too late – he had already started taking drugs. That was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault. He chose to do drugs, you didn't force him."

Mycroft shook his head. "I had just started working for MI5, I threw myself into my work after we fell out. I wasn't there for him."

"But he wasn't talking to you."

"I pushed him away just as much as he pushed me."

"Why?"

"I was hurt that he wanted to see his father."

"What about your father?"

"I think he left her when she was pregnant. That would explain why she hated me so much but I don't know who he was or why he left. He could have been a one night stand for all I know."

"It's OK."

Mycroft smiled sadly. "We'd never celebrated a birthday before we were taken away. We didn't even understand the concept. Our births hadn't been registered so we don't actually know when either of us were born."

"You don't know your date of birth?"

"No. They estimated Sherlock's age and I knew that he was born during the winter. They estimated my age as well but I have no idea what time of year I was born. Social services gave us each a date of birth based on a doctor's estimation. We've never really celebrated our birthdays, there never seemed much point in celebrating a randomly chosen date. We celebrated the date of our adoption instead."

"When is it?"

"The 22nd of June."

"We'll celebrate it this year."

"We don't have to."

"We should, we could invite Sherlock, and John and Mary, and your parents."

"That sounds nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes. Forgive me, the analgesia is affecting my vocabulary."

"Is that your way of saying that you're stoned on pain killers?"

"Yes."

"I quite like drugged up Mycroft. I feel like I'm almost on the same level as you, intellectually I mean."

Mycroft laughed. "Enjoy it while it lasts."


	4. An Essay In Solitude

It was a grey, miserable day. Fitting for a funeral, he thought as the voice of the vicar carried faintly across on the wind.

He stood alone at the back of the congregation of mourners, an invisible veil separating him from the rest of the world.

He had no real reason to attend but he hadn't been able to stay away. He needed to pay his final respects to this woman. A woman who he had never properly met. A woman who had only seen him once when he was beyond consciousness. A woman who had comforted his dear little brother in a moment of need.

He should have died that day. Who would have stood by his grave if he had? Sherlock, perhaps, when he was older. Briefly, out of some sort of fraternal obligation. Standing by the grave on anniversaries before fading with evermore irregular visits until he stopped coming altogether.

Or would Sherlock have forgotten him? With just a distant memory of a brother he'd once had? A painful jolt of remembrance, occasionally thought of when the topic of brothers was raised?

Would he have forgotten him completely? Would he have forgotten the brother who had fought so hard to protect him, to care for him? Would he have been raised as an only child? Cared for by doting adoptive parents but without the companionship of a brother who truly understood him?

His parents would have still raised the child that they so desperately desired but without the added hassle of an anxious boy approaching adolescence. It was a sobering thought, that perhaps Sherlock would have been better off without him. Would he have adjusted better to a new family without the constant reminder of his old one? Would he have gone to school and made friends rather than suffering from the isolation that resulted from demanding to be allowed to stay at home with his big brother?

He always done his best for Sherlock but perhaps his best hadn't been enough. Perhaps he had been more of a hindrance than a help. Sherlock would certainly agree with that statement.

Eventually everyone else left, eager to get out of the rain. He stood at the grave and for once felt truly alone. The first person, other than his brother, who had shown him any compassion was dead. He gazed mournfully at the delicately carved stone.

 _ **ELSIE CARTWRIGHT**_

 _Born_

 _7_ _th_ _April 1919_

 _Died_

 _22_ _nd_ _February 2005_

 _Beloved_

And he grieved for the life that he hadn't had.

Slowly he walked away, drifting along a gravel path until he stood at another grave, a cheap metal plaque lacking in the pomp and circumstance of a lovingly carved headstone.

Mycroft Evans

Died

13th January 1986

How different life could have been.


End file.
